City of silence
by NCR Ranger
Summary: New Mombasa. One of the most thriving cities on Earth, reduced to a ghost town in a span of one night. The Covenant own it now, and anybody who could've stopped them is either dead or gone. Or, so they think
1. Army of one

New Mombassa

20:45, local clock

* * *

_Damn, someone filled my head with packing foam, or something like that_

Seconds after awakening, that was the Rookie's first thought. The inside of his close-shaved, stubble chinned head wasn't so much throbbing or aching, as it was _heavy. _There was a constant pressure that seemed to fill his whole cranium, exactly as if someone had drilled a hole through his badly dented and scraped helmet, and the ( probably ) chipped skull beneath, to pour liquid concrete in.

All of his body hurt, of course. His hands, from having been wrapped around the stabilization handles mounted near his knees so tight as his pod had been spinning wildly out of control. His legs, from being the first bit of him to take the freight-train hitting-you sized impact of slamming into the ground from a 80,000 ft. drop. His torso, from being torqued around after his pod had ricocheted off another one on the way down, despite his crash harness doing its best to hold him still.

It wasn't pain. It was different, and in that way, worse. The Rookie had experienced pain more than a few times over the years, mostly handed to him by the Covenant; he'd been blasted by close range plasma grenades, had once taken a Brute Spiker round to his pectorals, and had been grazed by Jackel Beam rifles. Some of that pain had come from his brothers and sisters in arms: he'd gotten pummeled by other ODSTs during sparring matches and the inevitable fisticuffs that comes with soldiers living with other soldiers.

And, then there'd been the pain from bad landings. Except, the Rookie _hadn't_ had a bad landing. Ever.

Until now.

_Ugh, son of a bitch. That EMP blast screwed everything up. Ow, Jesus on a skateboard-!_

The ODST's jaw clenched, facial muscles flexed, and a hiss of air escaped between his teeth as he involuntarily reacted to the unpleasant sensation. It felt like it was actually slowing down his thoughts, and impairing his focus. That was deadly; it could get him killed real quick. Exhaling, and suppressing a grunt of discomfort, he groped around with aching fingers in the claustrophobia-inducing ( for anybody who wasn't an ODST, of course ), red-emergency-light-lit interior of the drop pod for a medpack, which he knew had to contain paid meds.

That's when he became aware of another sensation, and it wasn't any better than the first. For some reason, he was nauseous.

Not to the point of " Tear off your helmet before you fill it with chuke with you still wearing it " bad, but it wasn't good. There was this distinctly queasy, sickly taste at the back of his throat, along with a buildup of saliva. The reflex to spit up suddenly became pretty strong, and the Rookie couldn't place why.

_The heck ? Like being seasick or some shit like that. Ugh,, must be tied to my head getting used for a gong. Who designed these damn helmets ?_

Forcefully choking down some of what he presumed was bile, he finally found what he was looking for, tucked into its slot by his right knee. Tugging it loose took more effort than the Rookie wanted, but that didn't matter, because at least he _had_ it.

Reaching up, he yanked off his helmet. Well, yanked was what he _wanted_ to have done-in practice, he more accurately fumbled with the clasps and latches for an annoying few seconds, realizing he was woozier than he'd thought. Finally, though, the abused headpiece came off, and he let it drop by his boots.

_Better _it _ends up with a trench put into its surface than my head, I suppose_

Letting his head bump into the padded top of the seat, the Rookie mentally expressed thanks for said padding- his cabeza had taken enough of a battering-, before fishing out the anti-pain pills from out of the kit and putting them in his mouth.

Unclipping his canteen, he unscrewed it, and tossed back a few gulps worth of chilled water. It wasn't until that moment that he discovered how dry and sawdust-y the interior of his mouth was. Reflexively, he coughed, sending droplets of water flying out.

_How long was I asleep, damn ? Mouth might as well be jammed with cotton _

The Rookie swallowed anyway, licking off the excess water on his lips. The coolness of the water was better on the throat than the mouth, and after a few moments of relishing it, the Rookie took another swig. It was good to hydrate, and not only because it was conducive to your health.

Sometimes, you simply needed a good drink. And by drink, that wasn't exactly something beer-like, either.

Exhaling and inhaling several times, the Rookie knew the meds would take a while to take effect, albeit a short one. Still, he'd done what he could for himself. He'd have to hope and pray that nothing important had been damaged, because all he had was a medkit.

_Ok, pills will kick in soon. Meanwhile, this pod is nowhere to be. I didn't crash here to hide in it._

_Only a coward hides. Had to do something for the pain, but I have now.  
_

_Got to move_

* * *

_Bwoom !_

With a razor sharp, but muted, roar, the outer hatch to the Single Occupant Exoatmospheric Insertion Vehicle ( SOEIV, also known as a drop-pod ) launched itself through the nighttime air, before clattering to a stop a few yards away.

For a few seconds, nothing happened.

Then a pair of fingerless gloved hands appeared, grasping the yawing opened sides of the pod. They pulled, and a tall man, clad in well-worn, ash-colored ODST combat armor emerged.

He took a few steps forward, leaving the pod behind him. It was sitting at an angle, its exterior badly charred and roasted from the flames of re-entry, as well as dented from all the collisions and crashes. SOIEV's always made only _one_ trip, _ever,_ but they could take one monumental beating while they had their one shot ride.

The ODST who'd ridden it down was simply glad it hadn't lived up to its other name: "Flying coffin ". He'd come to Earth to kill Covenant, and he had the tools to do so.

An M7S SMG, its top mounted red dot sight glimmering like a gemstone, was cradled in a dual handed grip.

Hanging off his right hip, the grip of an M6S handgun poked up, as it comfortably rested in its holster, surrounded on either side by the rest of his belt gear: M9 Frag grenades, a serrated combat knife, the now-partially-used medkit, and pouches of spare ammo for his guns. It was all gear no ODST would drop without.

None of that counted for anything without the soldier carrying it being aware and alert, though, and the Rookie was already scanning. The denseness of his head was still an issue, but it was fading, and that made things easier.

_Ok, let me get my bearings-_

_What the- ?_

Through the visor of his helmet- no ODST would dare to leave his/her pod without putting their helmet on first-, he'd looked up, and been greeted by-

Rain.

It was raining. Sheets of the wet stuff were falling all over him, pattering and tapping endlessly on every hard surface they landed on, including his helmet.

_Did I land outside ?_

Everything around him was covered in shadows. It was too dark to make out anything other than vague outlines and shapes of his surroundings, so the Rookie activated VISOR mode, and swept his gaze around again.

He actually _hadn't_ landed outside. Instead, he seemed to have come down in the front lobby of some kind of building. All he could see around him was ruined and broken concrete, with rebar and metal internal skeleton poking out. Most of it showed clear signs of plasma slagging, and energy blast marks.

What this place had been before the Covenant had used it for target practice wasn't obvious anymore. The Rookie had seen enough of their handiwork to know by now. This place, was a quarry now. Rubble and broken structure, everywhere. Nothing but ruins. Even with VISOR mode, the Rookie couldn't tell where he was, exactly.

_In a city filled with Covenant, dumbass. That's first and foremost right now_

_I know, but _**where **_?!_

Had he ended up _between_ two buildings, instead ?

Icewater trickled into his veins with a prickly sensation, and he held his M7 tighter, shouldering it. He'd been in plenty of hotzones before, but then again, they were usually exactly that- _hot. _There was usually already gunfire/plasma bolts in the air by then. ODSTs generally landed in the _middle_ of the fight, not on its edge.

Walking forward, his boots tramped across a concrete surface. Those boots had spent most of their working existence slogging through mud, or crashing through heavy jungle foliage; now on hard rock, they clacked loudly as The Rookie made his way ahead, muzzle up.

There seemed to be nothing and nobody still alive, anywhere. Ample amounts of destruction and devastation around, but_ nobody,_ living or dead, was anywhere around. No remains, even.

Nothing.

_Son of a- This is a ghost town. Is it ? New Mombasa, one of Earth's tether cities, all cleared out. Nobody's left.  
_

_And there's nothing left of them. Did the apes eat them ?! God, they'd better not have._

For a handful of seconds, The Rookie thought of what he'd seen and heard about what the Jiralhanae- the Brutes- were known to do. It was enough to send shivers racing through him-

_WrrrmmmmmmmMM_

There was no mistaking _that_ sound; it was a Phantom dropship, and it was on the move. And it was _close._

_Shit. Company's coming._

Stopping where he was, the Rookie quickly pivoted to where the sound was coming from. It was already loud, even through his helmet, and it was getting louder-

\- and a piercing beam of white light stabbed down barely off to his right, as a Phantom soared overhead.

The bulbous,boom-tailed, eggplant colored craft's pale blue running lights sparkled brightly as it shot past. It wasn't moving at full speed, but it wasn't crawling either. As if it was patrolling a place the Covenant were sure they'd already secured from top to bottom, and inside and out.

_That was close._

The Rookie didn't move for another few seconds, listening to the Phantom's engines fading as it cruised away. Some piece of him wished like crazy that he'd had a Jackhammer double-barrel rocket launcher right now: It'd have put some nice holes into that lumpy purple flier.

That Phantom being where it was at all proved something: The Covenant had New Mombasa locked down. They owned the place, and now their Phantoms were roving around, searchlights on, watching for anybody and anyone who might still be on their turf.

_Its hunting season for them_

**Grrrrmm, grrr, rrrf**

A new sound suddenly reached from, from somewhere out in front. A guttural, growling sound, like that of some-

_Jiralhane ! No doubt; the apes are here !_

By now, the Rookie had moved far enough away from his pod to have reached an area where there was plenty of light, and he could now see that there was a street in front of him. Normally a typically beautiful city main boulevard ( unlike the mountains, which were uncomfortably quiet ), this one was strewn with cars and trucks that had been abandoned in a split few seconds. Their doors were yawing wide open, and their headlights were still on. The pouring rain was rinsing them down, making them look like they'd emerged from a wax mold.

Overhead, street lights- the one that were still working, that was- flickered and illuminated the raindrops falling past them.

They also illuminated the pack of Brutes walking by.

Having turned his head to the right as soon as he'd gotten close to the road, the Rookie saw the group of the fur-covered, towering ( slightly over 8ft tall, to be exact ), bulky bodied aliens lumbering down the street.

Their cobalt blue armor shimmered under the glow of the street lights, and looked molten from the falling rain washing off their bullet-dented plates. Their movements were heavy and deliberate, but they were covering ground quickly. Covered by open faced helmets, their heads turned left and right, as their amber eyes glared around hungrily for someone to fight.

_Or, knowing them, to _**eat. **The Rookie found his breathing slowing of its own volition. He was not afraid; he was in survival mode.

Held in their giant, baseball-mitt sized and three fingered hands, were the vicious-looking Spike Rifles that every UNSC solider had a healthy wariness for; the guns could fire white hot spikes of metal that didn't do any flesh it hit any favors. Or even solid metal, for that matter. On top of all that, the crescent shaped blades fixed to the rifles' muzzles could lop off limbs with frightening ease.

_Oh, and don't forget how they can easily lift you with one hand, and then use that hand to crush your throat like drinking straw._

He stayed very still, as the pack of Brutes marched along. So far, they'd showed no signs they'd seen him, but Brutes were more perceptive than most gave them credit for. If they hadn't seen him yet, that didn't mean-

_Don't. Move. Too many of the bastards. 2 or 4 I'd take on, but there's got to be 8 of them !_

A finger slipped around the soaked trigger of his M7, and he exhaled slowly. Any second now-

\- but then the pack rounded the corner, and was out of view.

It was at that point, that the Rookie sensed his pulse slipping back down to a lower ( and probably healthier ) rate.

_Great. Peachy. Whole town's overrun with Brutes_

_Yeah, and there's nobody left alive around here except me. Wow. I am blessed._

He let the M7's muzzle drop, still standing where he'd been. His situation's subpar state was now fully obvious: He was alone, in a city where the only ones alive were aliens who wanted him dead- and not simply by shooting him, but by _chewing his ribs like a goat roast._

_Another day in the office. Could be worse; I could've become a priest. Or a lawyer._

With a definite level of caution, the Rookie advanced out onto the road, still facing the direction the Brutes had vanished into. Boots splashing through pools of rainwater that had gathered where they could, he took cover by the rear section of an abandoned orange #550 Scuderia StarSpeed M-12R.

_Nice ride. Least its not a relic. Whoops, I mean a classic car._

Taking a glance over the top, he found nothing moving. He waited for another few moments, aiming the M7, but still nothing.

Standing up carefully, the Rookie backpedaled a bit, slowing pivoting to face the other way. He tipped his head back, and looked up at the upper levels of the buildings lining the street. A crashed Banshee strike fighter was protruding like an eggplant with struts attached to it from one of the rooftops, wisps of smoke curling upward from its mangled fuselage.

Fires crackled and danced from the windows- what windows were left, of course- and dangling billboards sparked and sputtered as trickles of electricity pulsed through their torn apart circuitry.

Rain kept falling, and there was no movement to be detected, anywhere. If there were _any_ locals or UNSC soldiers left alive _at all, anywhere, _they weren't here. There was nothing but the evidence of the Covenant's handiwork.

_Scum-eating bastards, the lot of them. Every last one of them who set foot on Earth needs to die. Preferably by my own hand_

_Might as well bring the Insurrectionist rebels too. Get all my enemies in one basket. Where's a Shiva nuke when you want one ?_

Anger rose in him now, but not enough to muddle his focus, or his awareness. He took a final panning glance around, checking for any sign of the Covenant, but there was none. None at all.

He was determined to find the enemy, and meet them on his own terms.

_Got to get going. I have to find the squad. If anybody _is_ still alive , its them._

_Even Mickey. Somehow I think he's weird. Like he might flip. Anyway, that's not here or now_

The Rookie's mind was made up. He knew what to do.

He set off at a brisk walk.

Into the city of silence.


	2. Its always something with you

October 20th, 2552

New Mombasa

Local clock: 1606 hours

( 8 hours prior to The Rookie waking up )

* * *

Gunnery Sergeant Edward Buck could only watch as the corner of the easily-100- story-tall, glass walled skyscraper got closer and closer, looming like a gleaming, shiny spike in front of him.

Like it'd been spitefully dropped there _only_ to get in his way. Or like his drop pod's trajectory was spitefully_ aiming_ itself that way.

His SOIEV was barrelling toward it, screaming inbound on the tail end of its 80,000ft fall from low Earth orbit. The egg-shaped metal pod's hull had entire sections of its outer armor plating gone, and what was left was heated white hot and glowing, with a tail of fire and smoke extending behind in a rippling tail. Its drag chute _had_ deployed, but some of its fins had sheered completely off, and the pod barely seemed to have slowed past terminal velocity.

_Lovely. That EMP screwed up my course real well_

Inside, the ODST it was charged to protect was getting the usual royal massage experience: shaking and vibrating around hard enough to get the molars at the back of his jaw clacking, and sorely testing the strength of his crash harness. Spikes of cutting-sharp pain stabbed into him from every angle and direction, like some enraged acupuncturist was using him as a pincushion, as he was viciously bounced and jounced back and forth.

In his ears, he was treated to the thunderous , grating symphony of the roar of superheated air, clawing its way all around the badly abused SOIEV, as it plummeted to the end of its fiery trip through the African sky, still ablaze with an staggering blue glow from the Covenant supercarrier's atmospheric FTL jump.

That unique, pitfall sensation one would get from riding an amusement park roller coaster's downward curve had joined him the moment he'd been so forcibly ejected from the ODST deployment tube of _Say My Name_\- except said sensation was doubled 10 times over ( at a minimum ), and had jacked up his pulse to where there was more icy adrenaline in his veins than blood, if not half-and-half. All his senses were magnified, even _without_ the VISOR mode engaged.

_Another day at the office ! I love my job  
_

Doing his damnedest to ignore the deep set aching and stinging in his hands ( from how tightly they'd been grasping the now-useless control yokes mounted on either side of his knees ), Buck stated down the towering building that was very much _directly_ in his way. There was nothing he could do to avoid it; the pod was every inch the proverbial " sack of rocks ", and it was falling exactly like one, as it was designed to do.

That's how it was for an ODST, though. More often than not, there was no controlling the descent of your pod. There was no choosing his DZ. The SOIEV would land where it would now, and that was that.

_Yep. This will leave a mark- _where_ on me is anyone's guess._

The skyscraper was getting closer, and closer. It was about 3 seconds away. In those scant few seconds, scenarios flashed through Buck's head, on their own volition, on how this could go:

_Getting stuck in one of the upper floors. Great-are the elevators out ? Probably._

_Ricochet off ? Could end up anywhere then._

Those thoughts all zipped by with immeasurable speed, as thoughts always do.

The wall of glass was a New York second away now. Everything slowed down for an eighth of a second, in that bizarre way it did in the _exact_ last possible moment before a crash that you were about to experience happened.

The nonnom ( non-commissioned officer ) pressed the back of his helmeted head against the headrest, jammed his boots even harder against the floor, and carefully moved his tongue clear of his teeth, so it wouldn't get bitten-

\- as the SOIEV slammed with all the force of a frieght train into the side of the skyscraper.

_Son of a-!_

A gigantic, invisible gauntlet punched him- wracking the ODST with impact force. Glass shards in the thousands exploded out in a cascade of reflective, sparkling confetti, as the SOIEV plowed and bulldozed its way into the building's flank, shredding and pulverizing its way through anything in its path too weak to stand up to it- which was most of them.

_Agh !_

The mountain of momentum it'd built up from its fall was shunted in a fresh direction in a half second. Buck found himself getting wrenched over one side hard enough to get a loud metallic screech of protest from his nearly-failing harness, as his pod hit _something_ hard right beyond the glass windows, and proceeded to deflect away as it were a stone skipping across the surface of a lake.

More glass showered past, mixed with fragments of concrete and durasteel, in a swirling blizzard of debris that virtually blocked out everything Buck could see out the pod's front windows. He couldn't keep tabs on what was happening around him anymore, which was fine, considering he was still along for this ride.

_That's all of us on the way down- !  
_

It was then that he sensed his center of gravity altering; the pod was flipping ! Even with all the psychical forces playing havoc on the SOIEV and its passenger, Buck was aware of _that_ much at least:

The pod was _inverted_ now. Needless to say, it was still falling.

_Oh, F- Firefly !_

Tomato colored warning text flared on his HUD, ranting about STABILIZATION OFFLINE , over and over. The way he was getting that message _now_, as opposed to when he was careening like a drunken meteor on a beeline to the skyscraper, struck Buck as oddly humorous.

And it actually lasted for a comfortable 10 seconds- at his best guess.

Because the next thing he was aware of, was a shuddering, jolting crash that brought the SOIEV to a halt so hard, he became aware of nothing at all.

* * *

Buck didn't know how long he'd been out.

_Oww, jeez-!_

He didn't even know if he'd been _out_, at all. There seemed to be a gap in his memory- a staticy, fuzzy section of it spanning from when the pod had hit the Earth, till right now. All he _could_ recall, was an impact force that'd pummeled him with almighty strength.

His SOIEV had crashed from orbit upside down somewhere in New Mombasa. That was the extent of his knowledge at the moment. Through the visor of his helmet, and the fracture-line riddled glass of the SOIEV's windows, he couldn't tell anything about _where_ in town he'd landed.

Only that he'd crashed into it from orbit- _upside down. _Undignified.

_God- _that_ was a crash_

Of all the bad drops he'd had over his long career as an ODST, this took the whipped cream pie. It'd knocked him right to the knife edge of blacking out- that weird, floaty, middle of the road between them. Waves of dizziness and disorientation washed over him, staying to cling to him. On top of it, his whole body seemed to not weight much at all. He still could sense the solidness of the SOIEV's crash seat pressing into his back, and the weight of his battle armor settled over him, but otherwise-

Buck shook his head. He couldn't afford to sit here and wallow in his own discomfort. ODSTs were nothing if not resilient, and tapping into that unique brand of strength was what made them so deadly. They could push through getting hammered and pounded better than anyone- or at least long enough to accomplish the objective.

The _Spartans _had cheated their way there with all their fancy augmentations and powered armor. ODSTs didn't need any of that.

Buck willed himself to move, and was grateful to find his arms did as they were told. He tested his legs next, and they too responded, the tips of his boots tapping the back of the front hatch.

He dug through his mind, pulling up details of what he'd need to keep in mind moving forward;

_Somewhere in New Mombasa._

_Squad's pods were scattered all over the place after that carrier jumped to slipspace_

_Some spook commandeered us for a mission here. _

It took less effort than he thought, which was encouraging.

Ok, then. Its all still working, then.

His mental facilities were functional, and the rest of of him did too. They were all sore, but that simply said that they still _worked_. And as for his head, it wasn't enough to stop him. Buck knew his limits; it'd take more than some vertigo to keep him from doing what an ODST was supposed to do:

Take the fight to the enemy. In the most violent way possible.

_Nothing shattered, thankfully. Good. I can get back to business._

_" _Squad ?! Say status !_"_

_Veronica !_

No matter how dazed and confused he still might've been, Buck wasn't capable of _not_ immediately recognizing _that_ voice, sounding loud and clear though his helmet comms. It cut through the cobwebs in his head like an energy projector through a Marathon-class cruiser.

The blonde ONI operative Buck had fallen for ( unfortunately, he might've said ), was still talking down his ear. She sounded, _garbled, _though.

As if she'd been wounded.

" Alpha 9 ! Anyone on this net, respond if you are able. That means you too, Buck. "

_How nice. She gave me a shout out, _while_ bossing me around. _

_Women._

Giving his head a final shake, Buck chinned open the mic, and answered her:

" Missed me, Captain ? "

He wanted to say "Veronica ", but that wouldn't be proper over an official channel.

Veronica was ONI, though; she could get away with anything.

" What's your status, Gunnery Sergeant ?! "

_Business as usual. ONI to a T._

_Might as well respond in kind._

_" _Right now ? My pod's standing on its head. Not sure if the door still works "

" Well, I advise you _find out_. I can't raise the rest of the squad; I need at least _one_ of you combat effective. "

_Yes, ma'am. I will also sweep the streets with my hair as a brush !_

_" _Sure, give me a second. "

Biting back the instinctive response that'd surfaced ( but hadn't been said ), Buck reached out, leaning forward to manipulate the explosive bolt primers on the inside of the hatch.

_Great news ! Right. Like she _actually_ thinks there's something busted over here_

With a chiming _breep, breep, breep, _each of them flashed jade, indicating they were armed and ready. After a few seconds, Buck had readied all 4 of them.

With a press of his thumb, he hit the detonate button.

The charges worked perfectly.

_Whump, booom ! _

The front hatch of the SOIEV shot clean off, soaring away to land with a metallic clattering racket several yards away. Outside light flooded the pod, bringing with it swirling particles of dust.

" Clear ", Buck succinctly reported. He promptly set to work on undoing his crash harness, releasing the clasps and shrugging the straps off his shoulders.

" Good. "

Veronica was no stranger to getting right to the point either.

" Soon as you're done messing about, RV with me at Tayari Plaza ASAP. "

" What's the rush ? "

Buck's harness came loose, and without it keeping him back, he immediately tumbled forward. Rolling heels over head, the noncom found himself flat on his back seconds later, on a concrete floor, staring up at a sky that was a brilliant shade of electrically charged azure.

Swirling patterns of the bright lights hung above the tops of the city's high rises, distorting the rays of sun. Everything around Buck seemed more, _saturated in color_ than it would otherwise be.

_Oh. The wonders of an atmospheric FTL jump. So, _that's _what we fell through_

_" _Let me guess, because you sure as heck won't tell me. ONI secrets and all that. "

Clambering to a standing position, Buck took q quick second to survey his surroundings. Disabling VISOR mode ( it was hardly needed, with the illumination from the overly ionized air overhead ), he turned his helmeted head around.

His ungraceful landing had evidently brought him to the base of one of the many automated gates that helped to regulate the flow of vehicle and pedestrian traffic through the walled off sections of New Mombasa. Many of said vehicles had clearly been abandoned haphazardly and on the spot by their occupants, given the way the multitude of cars and commercial trucks were left crooked and crooked all over the road.

The gate that was towering over him right now- all imposing 30 ft of it, with its yard-thick sections that were built of steel-colored, military grade durasteel that slid on rails- was more tightly sealed than an ONI operative's lips when it came to speaking about their job. Red warning messages of STOP , and ACCESS DENIED glowed from their mounted signboards over the gate's arched top.

Stretching away from him, the rest of the road was littered with more left behind vehicles, along with the clear signs of heated recent combat; an _abundance_ of plasma scorching, along with explosive residue effect of the exuberant use of UNSC heavy ordinance. Bullet holes had stitched themselves into the sides of the buildings and the ditched cars in utterly random patters.

That's _going to the norm for this whole town. I know._

Impressively, the ubiquitous city billboards placed on the upper levels of buildings were online. Of course, none were running ads for new laptops or jackets, though. The only message they were displaying were things along the lines of , KEEP RIGHT , or USE CAUTION .

_Seems the Super is still doing its job, walking folks out of the city as best it can. _

_Covenant haven't slagged that yet.  
_

Having gotten a handle on this particular corner of NM where he'd been tossed into, Buck turned back to the pod.

He wouldn't be headed _anywhere_, ONI orders or not, without his weapon. It was still slotted tightly into place, in its resting cradle, beside the now-empty crash chair.

As he stepped back over to the SOIEV to retrieve it, Veronica spoke again. " How's _this_ for a reason, Buck: My pod's door is jammed, and I can't get it open. Plus, we missed our DZ; hostile contact is likely imminent. "

_" Missed our DZ ". _That_ is the mother of all understatements. Where even _was_ the damn DZ ?! _

_" _I've set down in Tayari Plaza-"

As the ONI woman spoke, the ODST sergeant leaned back into the pod, and found his MA5C was exactly where it was supposed to be. Grabbing its barrel shroud, he yanked it hard, only to find it was stuck fast.

_Great._

He pulled harder, and again. Somehow ( but not too surprisingly, ) all the crashing around had squeezed it into a viselike trap. The metal around it had formed into a tight fist, and wasn't letting go.

" Yeah, well- "

It was then that the rifle came free without warning.

-_I_ came prepared for hostile contact. "

Buck quickly checked his weapon for functionality, and mentally expressed thanks upon finding it sound.

" What I _wasn't_ prepared for was you leaving me hanging when I asked you that one, _very_ important question on a certain morning. "

He proceeded to retrieve a magazine of 7.62x51mm rounds from one of his armor's front storage pouches, before deftly feeding it into the MA5C's chamber with a satisfying _clack_. He couldn't be bothered with caring that this_ really_ wasn't right moment to bring up the complicated romantic past he had with Veronica.

Buck had been literally burned before,_ and_ shot, but what had happened happened that morning with the woman he'd wound up loving hurt the absolute most.

" There isn't anything I can say about it, and we _both_ know that. ". Veronica stated, letting some of that ONI unflinching nature enter her tone, as Buck yanked the MA5's charging handle.

" Did you want me to lie to you ? ", she continued briskly. " No. I was a straight shooter, like I always am. That book is _closed_. "

" Not to _me_, it isn't ", Buck retorted, his mouth forming into a slight but bitter scowl. He swore he detected a trace of resignation in how Veronica had said closed, but that didn't take much of the sting away.

Or _any_, actually.

His sullen mood shift was interrupted at that point, by a _very_ clear reminder that he really needed to get his head back in the game, and focus on the objective of reaching Tayari Plaza:

The sound of a Phantom dropship approaching.

Buck reacted by nothing more than reflex: He turned to where the alien craft was coming from, double checking that the safety was off on his MA5, and bringing the rifle up to shoulder height. One finger fell to a resting position right beside the weapon's trigger.

" We'll finish this later ", he tersely informed Veronica. " About to get some company over here. "

" Finish- wait. How many of them are there ? "

" Depends on how many of the ugly suckers can fit into a Phantom ", Buck replied. He watched as one of the lumpy purple dropships smoothly glided into view from over the rooftops on the left side of the street in front of him.

" Stay put. I'll begin making my way to your 20. "

" Got nowhere to go, remember ? Hatch's _stuck_. So _don't_ die out there, Buck. "

" Nice to know you care. ".

The Sergeant closed his end of the line.

Somewhat grateful the conversation was over, Buck kept watching the Phantom, as it descended in seconds to roughly 20ft over the ground, halfway down the road from where Buck had dropped in.

Drives warbling loudly, it entered hover mode. A beam of pale light stabbed out from the craft's underbelly, and through it came the familiar menagerie of creatures that the Covenant always threw in waves at the UNSC:

A gaggle of Unggoy ( grunts ), with a Jiralhanae (brutes ) added for good measure. There had to be around 10 of the first, though thankfully the Brute was by himself.

The Unggoy weren't the problem; the short, squat-bodied aliens with crustacean-like skin were only about half as tall as Buck. Scurrying around on stumpy legs, the diminutive Unggoy balanced the weight of the pyramidal containers of pure methane that they required to breathe strapped tight to their backs, while their eerily beady red eyes searched for targets. Targets they could shoot with the iconic C-shaped plasma handguns that every Unggoy Buck had ever seen was always armed with.

Carried in their spiky, oversized forearms, the energy handguns didn't do much damage against ODST armor. They were essentially flashlights. But, although _one_ of them did a diddly amount of damage, a lot of them did a _lot_ of diddly.

The _Brute, _on the other hand, _was_ the problem here. 7 ft tall mountain of bristly fur and heavily corded muscle, all wrapped up in a rock solid shell of cobalt colored armor, with a fang toothed mouth twisted into a viscous leer.

Icy adrenaline was injected into Buck's veins, and he sensed its chill as the alien squad leader snarled orders at his raggedy bunch. The Unggoy shrieked and gibbered, skittering about, aiming their weapons at nothing in particular.

Buck knew where to point _his_ weapon, though. His MA5 was locked and loaded, with 32 high velocity solutions chambered inside it ready to go.

_You're in my way, you overgrown gorilla. You _and_ your merry band._

The Covenant squad had dropped between him and the quickest way to Tayari Plaza. That was their mistake.

Because Buck wouldn't let this one, or any of the others, stop him from reaching Veronica before it was too late.

* * *

_" Nice to know you care. "_

Half of Dare wanted to reach through the comms, and slap that smug bastard of an ODST sergeant who'd said that across the face. Or punch him. Or both.

_How dare you.  
_

The sheer amount of sarcasm that dripped from every word in that sentence made the ONI woman bristle, raising shark spikes of anger up and down her spine. Edward Buck; always thinking of himself.

For all the danger that Dare knew she was in- _sealed inside an smoldering SOIEV, in a grid that was filled with masses of heavily armed Covenant_\- there was _some_ of her that took a moment to rage against Buck. The man had it in his hollowed-out head that Dare had written him off completely.

That she didn't care about him, and that he was yet another tool that ONI could use and discard as long as it worked for their plans and agendas. He had no idea.

_He has none at all. Its _not_ over between us._

_ Does he think I chose _he_ and his team _only _owing to their record ?! I wouldn't tell him so now; that will wait till we're face to face  
_

She only had to get this wretched hatch off first, though.

Pounding a fist on one of the stubbornly-red explosive bolts that wasn't letting her hatch come loose, Dare swore that upon getting out of here, and finding Buck again, she would put things right with him. Preferably by beginning with beating some sense into him first.

_Literally_ if need be.

_xxxrp, xxxxxrp_

Again, though, the bolts failed to respond. Something had been jarred loose, or outright broken, because they _weren't_ responding.

Exhaling sharply, Dare nearly hit the malfunctioning bolt again, but stopped. If it hadn't done its job the last several hits, it wouldn't now.

Well, maybe, but that was literally the _definition_ of insanity. Dare kicked the hatch, putting some actual force behind both her boots hitting it, but yet again, that method of getting the hatch off did nothing either.

It did indeed seem she was trapped here until her knight in Covenant viscera-covered armor arrived. If she knew Buck, he'd carve his way here. One way or the other.

_Till then, this SOIEV's my home. One where I can touch the other side of by holding out my arm._

__Off to a flying beginning, this op. Everything is proceeding __exactly__ by the numbers  
__

All she could do, was stare out the hatch's badly splintered glass, at the brilliantly blue, pale light that was filtering in through it- the oddly serene effects of the supercarrier's FTL jump. Her pod had landed in an amphitheater of sorts, so all she could see around her, through the limited field of view the windows granted, were soaring city walls, with high rise buildings stretching up even higher.

Holes yawed from where plasma bolts had struck home, but the building around them were still standing.

The ones the Covenant hadn't slagged yet at were a reminder that New Mombasa still stood.

Somehow, in a way Dare couldn't quite place, they were strangely comforting.


	3. Grid by Grid

October 20th, 2552

1621 hours, local clock

New Mombasa

Tayari Plaza District

8 hours prior to the Rookie awakening

* * *

_Whmp-bam !_

The report of the exploding M9 frag grenade reverberated through the electrically charged afternoon air, scattering plumes of dust and chunks of pavement in every direction. Nearby, a parked seban's windows were punched clean out, glass spilling out onto the ground in countless fragments.

_Aieeee ! Ahhhh !_

Several Unggoy were flung several yards from the detonation point, their compact bodies tumbling and ragdolling, trailing ribbons of luminous cyan-colored blood from getting shredded by the white-hot shrapnel. Their plasma handguns sailed along with them, hitting the ground before they did and clattering away like the discarded rubbish they now were.

" **Raaaaaggghhh ! Rrrrgh-! "**

Even before the echoes of his grenade attack had begun to die out, Buck had already shifted his focus to the Jiralhane that was- or rather, _had been_\- leading the Unggoy pack. The beefy alien's fanged mouth was wide open, roaring with what was _very_ obviously unfiltered and primal rage.

_Right back at you, ugly !_

Squeezing the trigger on the MA5, Buck began emptying the clip into the Jiralhane's chest. The rifle's comforting, staccato _ratatatatat _firing rhythm filled his ears, as it spit 7.62mm death downrange.

Bronze light flared with loud brightness across the Jiralhane's heavyset frame from tip to tip; its personal shield was doing what it was designed to do. The alien squad leader wasn't relying only on that for survival, needless to say, though. Buck soon had to duck as a volley of searing hot tungsten spikes cleaved through the air where his head had been, barely avoiding the lethal projectiles as they effortlessly trimmed down the tall grass growing in the center of the traffic divider the ODST was hunkered behind.

_Close, space ape. I'll give you that_

As the Spiker rounds continued raking the top of the divider, slashing off more and more grass and spewing them left and right, Buck carefully but steadily edged his way around the edge of the divider, and poked his head around it.

_whp,whp,whp,whp,whp !_

The Jiralhane was standing in place, one handing the Spiker rifle, busily hosing down the divider with a storm of spikes.

Taking aim again, Buck took a second to check the MA5's ammo counter readout, glimmering cyan on the back of the barrel shroud: 20 rounds left.

_20\. Got it. I've done this with 20 before._

He opened fire.

Bullets beat the Jiralhane's shield like a drum, which again flared bronze as it struggled to stop the impacts. It could, but the trick ( as Buck knew ) was to keep up the pressure on that shield and not allow it to fully recharge itself. Lay enough punishment on it quickly enough, and it _would_ eventually collapse. _That_ would cause an electrical backlash to the armor itself, making it vent plasma all over the place and become virtually useless.

Meat on the table did the wearer become._ If_ you could drop the shields themselves first to begin with, that was.

_Ratatatatatat-!_

_Whp,whp, whp, whp ! _Flying spikes, previously trimming the grass, were quickly redirected as the Jiralhane reacted fast. The arc of spikes changed, getting walked closer and closer to punching through Buck's faceplate.

'**10**' , indicated the ammo counter. It always told the truth.

_Down to the last bullet ! _ Buck didn't let up. His trigger finger didn't relax.

He was on the verge of running dry- or getting his cabeza back behind the divider- when he was treated to the sweet spectacle he'd been hoping for.

_Kzzt- bam !_

A flickering snap of bronze light, and the Jiralhane's shield fell apart.

Jets of cobalt-colored plasma shot out in places, along with hefty chunks of armor plate. As they bounced and crashed to the ground, the big alien they'd been fixed to staggered, the last of the Spiker's ammo getting discharged harmlessly wide. Buck pressed himself prone anyway, rolling slightly onto his right side and reaching around for a fresh magazine.

_Gotcha !_

_"_** Auuurggh ! Grrrrrh ! "**

Buck was a fast loader, but Jiralhane, despite their considerable stature, were no slowpokes either.

Even as his fingers closed around a new clip and pulled it loose, ready to slam it into place, the towering brute was already getting ready for round two.

The Spiker, clearly empty by now, was still immensely deadly- courtesy of its twin crescent-shaped bayonets._ Every_ UNSC soldier worth his salt respected those bayonets, and for good reason; the wounds they left behind couldn't exactly be closed up with kissing and a band aid.

Getting your entire arm removed ( not at all cleanly ) from the shoulder on down was more accurate. Getting into a hand to hand fight with a Jiralhane was _not_ advisable- you kill them from a _distance_ if at all possible.

**_" RAAAAAGH ! "_**

A curdling, bellow erupting from its throat, the Jiralhane charged, bearing down like a maddened rhino.

_clck !_

Buck's experienced hands had been working overtime, frenetically slamming the magazine home and yanking the charging handle. But, there was practically no room by now.

The Jiralhane hadn't been very far off to begin with, and with those trunk-like legs, closing the distance was no problem at all. Already, Buck could look the creature in the eye- which were _every inch_ those of an apex predator.

An apex predator from another world, to boot.

_Focus ! Bring him down._

_**Bring him down**_

The MA5's muzzle centered squarely on the Jiralhane's contorted-with-fury face.

Buck squeezed the trigger.

_Ratatatatat-_

_Spllrk !_

With a wet, fleshy tearing sound, bullets hit the Jiralhane's exposed face, and hammered right through.

**" Agggghhhh-!"**

Still moving forward, the Jiralhane died standing.

Carried by momentum, the hefty alien covered nearly another yard, before falling like a felled tree . Buck automatically rolled and threw himself clear, as the Jiralhane impacted the ground, with a 1,500 pound thumping sound.

**THMP!**

Vibrations rippled through the pavement.

The Spiker rifle clattered off to one side. Heavier than it appeared, the noise was surprisingly loud.

As was the new _silence_, that had settled over everything.

The fight was over.

_Thank god for MA5 superiority _

For several moments, Buck didn't move. He was keenly aware of how he was coming off the adrenaline high that he'd been riding on all along; his jackhammering heart rate was slowly creeping back down to normal, blood was slowly stopping booming in his ears, and the icewater of the adrenaline itself slowly began to leach out of his veins.

The _whh, whhh, whhh_ of someone breathing hard caught his attention, and a second or so later, he understood that was _him_ panting. Even after so many years of taking out Jiralhane, doing it up _close and personal_ was always a daunting prospect- to say the absolute_ least._

_They're not the muscle of the Covenant for nothing._

_ Where's Romeo when you need him ?! That motormouth could've put a 12.7mm round through that bravo kilo's dome long ago_

Still laying down, Buck looked left, then right. Even more slowly, he eased himself up from his improvised fighting postion of the asphalt road, keeping both hands on the MA5. Smoke, wispy and cinder colored, coiled up from the rifle's muzzle.

Nothing was left alive around him.

Nothing, and nobody.

* * *

The Jiralhane warrior lay dead, sprawled backwards amid a growing lake of purple-red blood, with more of it trickling in from all the facial bullet holes, and from MA5- torn gaps in its buckled armor plates. Scattered haphazardly all around, the dead Unggoy were no less deceased. Their own blood practically glowed, decorating the road in patches and the doors of nearby ditched cars like liquefied sapphires.

_Lot of dead Covies. All my own doing._

_Warms my heart, it truly does. Coming to Earth was the worst mistake you ever made-and the last_

Now fully upright, Buck surveyed the area again.

There was still no need for VISR mode; the sky continued to be more lit up than a Texan bonfire from the Supercarrier's FTL jump, with countless glowing particles still floating down and along. From the generous supply of light, the noncom observed that his surroundings were deserted all over again.

Ahead, the road came to a fork. Off to the left, it swerved off sharply past the thoroughly charred remains of an M12 into an elbow corner, leading away to God-knew where. Off to the right, it ran straight into an energy barrier- a fan shaped field of impenetrable charged particles that burned with a kaleidoscope of loud, Covenant-prefered colors.

Buck had encountered these fields before. They were used to seal off entire pathways roads, and trails, funneling the Covenant's enemies into killzones, or at least into areas they wanted you to go, and away from ones they didn't. The barriers were fiendishly tough; even direct hits from an M808V MBT ( Main Battle Tank )'s 90mm cannon couldn't get through them. As far as the sergeant knew, the only option when you ran into a shield, was to simply find another way.

Which, in all likelihood, would take you somewhere even more lethal than where you'd been headed. But, that was often the case when it came to the Covenant, and you were slugging it out with them on the ground, muzzle to muzzle.

Finally lowering the MA5 ( but keeping it at the ready ), Buck exhaled. Veronica's mystery op was, so far, playing out exactly as ONI ops tended to: Vague as heck, leading you around by the nose, and steering you face first into the hottest grids.

The last one _would_ normally be fine- ODSTs thrived on getting tossed into the fire. But, when that tossing was at the behest of ONI ? Then all of a sudden, you found yourself sharing the resentment reserved for the_ enemy_, with the spymasters as well. ONI only cared about its own

_Exactly what they want. Lovely. I am thrilled to play into their hands._

A momentary surge of anger had the muscles in Buck's stubble-layered jaw tightening, and he commanded himself to exhale. This line of thinking wasn't doing him any favors.

After all, he _knew_ who/what ONI was. Who and what, _Veronica_ was.

_Roses do have thorns.  
_

Buck couldn't afford to waste energy dwelling on that. With a focused effort, he shunted them away, and out of mind.

He had bigger fish to fry, anyway.

Alpha 9, his squad- **_his_** squad, **not** Veronica's, no matter how much ONI pull she wielded over them all, or thought she could- was scattered far and wide across this city. They had to be still be alive somewhere; Buck knew his men. They were some of the most capable ODSTs he'd ever fought with, and if _anyone_ could stave off the Covenant for a couple hours until he tracked them down, it was them.

Rounding _them_ up was his mission.

And as for Veronica's, hers could definitely wait.

* * *

_I. Am. Waiting. Edward.  
_

There weren't many things that could genuinely get Veronica Dare upset- which was something that would utterly astonish many folks, given that she was an ONI operative. Remaining completely trapped within an SOIEV, though, with barely enough space to stretch any one of her increasingly aching and cramped limbs, _was_ one of those few.

Drop pods were not that comfortable to sit in even for the relatively short planetfall ride they took you on. They fell, they hit hard, and then you sprang out to fight. Simple as that.

Except when they malfunctioned on you, leaving you cocooned inside them, unable to do anything but stare at the scenery until you shanghaied a way out, or until someone came by to set you free. Whichever happened first.

_Come on, Buck. I can't stay here forever ! This is getting on my nerves._

Her imprisonment was definitely getting to her. Truth be told, though, Dare did consider herself to be relatively mild mannered. Living as a spy for so many years hadn't actually given her anger issues- if you could consider not having that many of them to be an issue at all. That was fairly normal for ONI operatives; their careers were all about keeping to themselves, after all, and keeping back information from virtually everyone they ever interacted with. They were not popular with the rank and file at large, to put it mildly.

For most of them, all they had was the mission. Their ops, and the endless gathering of intel and reports to be processed into actionable data that the rank and file who loathed them so much could use.

There was no denying too many ONI officers had earned that disdain. Heck, maybe even the whole organization, and that was the way things were. Even so, however, someone had to get that kind of work done. The UNSC needed its shadow experts now more than ever these days.

Dare was no different than the rest of the Office, in _that_ regard at least. New Mombasa held something of great value to the intel community, and that was the reason she was in town at all. Why she'd commandeered a unit of ODSTs with such a shining combat record as Alpha 9, and brought them with her.

_Buck, where are you ?!_

Without them, without such skilled backup, she couldn't retrieve the intel from its highly secured location deep within- no, _beneath_\- the metropolis of New Mombasa. That was why she had singled out Alpha 9, out of all the ODSTs units that were standing by in the Home Fleet. Out of all the ones aboard the _Say my Name._

But, there was no point in lying. That wasn't the _only_ reason.

Because Alpha 9 had a very particular man in charge.

_I needed him. Because the men look up to him. Not me. They'll follow my orders because they are good soldiers who respect the chain of command, but they don't respect me._

_Besides, like I told him, I haven't forgotten about that question he asked that morning_

* * *

" Oi ! Trooper !? Hey, over here ! "

Someone called to Buck from a point dead ahead of him.

Someone with a strong Australian accent.

_Marines ? Has to be._

Buck hadn't run into or seen anyone _except_ Covenant alive until now. It was heartening to think he might finally be meeting some allied faces.

Keeping the MA5 angled down, he jogged forward.

The road he'd been following- the left fork, needless to say, had taken him into what was nearly a complete dead end- 3 sides of high duracrete walls that formed a rough horseshoe, with a grass covered grid-shaped plot of land off to one side on the right, bordering the street. It was obviously some kind of compact city park, complete with benches, a handful of bushy palm trees placed here and there to provide a degree of shade, and a visitor's information signboard, complete with a map of the district.

It was immediately obvious to Buck, though, that the Covenant had been here. And, that someone had met them here too.

The signboard was half missing, and what was left was slagged like a melted wax candle. Divots had been blown out of the grass, leaving behind well roasted craters. Several of the trees had been neatly bisected, their fronds strewn on top of each other across the ground.

Completing the post-battle mosaic, was another shredded M12. The fast recon/ skirmisher vehicle was out of action, with its front and back left wheels missing. The armor plating on that whole side of the 4x4 was heavily pockmarked and battered with plasma scoring, and adorned by the cooled-by-now projectiles of a Spiker rifle.

Someone had clearly been using it for cover.

And someone' helmeted head was poking up now over the rear bumper. Not an ODST helmet, though- instead, it was the smooth, jade colored and gently sloped contours of a CH252 Combat helmet.

_Marines at last. Someone on my side, rather than aiming to shoot some plasma into it._

Buck one handed the MA5 for a moment, raising his right fist to signal he'd spotted the leatherneck.

The helmet's wearer was a man with a dusting of stubble on his chin, and a set of bronze-tinted ballistic goggles on his face. He nodded once, then turned to his right and appeared to speak to someone.

A moment later, a second helmeted man poked his own head up into view. He had less growth on his jaw than the first, and wore no goggles, but was clearly no less surprised- and grateful- to have an intact and well armed ODST approaching.

_What did you expect, boys-** Spartans** ?! Ha ! Even better- you're getting an ODST._

" Trooper ! ". It was the goggled marine speaking, the one with the pronounced Aussie accent. " Thank God. I thought we'd be on our own even longer. "

" Yeah. Ammo's running low, even with salvaging what the dead Covies drop. ", the second one added. He spoke with a Southern US drawl.

Spotting the three chevrons rank insignia on on Buck's armor that marked him as a Gunnery Sergeant, he added" That's PFC Dubbo, Gunny. Me ? Private Chase Deckard. "

Coming to a halt in front of them, having rounded the end of the M12, Buck took a moment to size up these two jarheads.

They'd _already_ been hard pressed for a while, that much was obvious: their woodland-MARPAT camouflage BDU ( battle dress uniform )s were coated with layers of grimy dust, nearly hiding their rank insignia, and their M52B body armor plates had chips of it missing. Decker's helmet had faint scoring marks on it, and Dubbo's rifle had clearly been grazed by a Spiker round.

They still had fight in them, despite it all. Buck was reminded again that there were more hardy fighters in the rank and file Marines than the ODSTs gave them credit for. These jarheads were the real deal, whether they knew it or not.

Dubbo was armed with an MA5C, like Buck was. Deckard carried a Needler- the Chinese-cookie shaped SMG that the aliens often handed out to their Unggoy fighters. The impressively bizarre weapon had a forest of amethyst-purple, twistedly jagged crystal shards protruding from the top of his upper casing, which were actually its ammunition. It shot those shards out in an automatic firing mode, and each of them could actually track a moving target. If at least 5 of the shards impacted and got stuck into what they'd hit, they'd daisy chain themselves off in a ripple of explosions that could shear a man in two as easily as snapping a toothpick.

The idea of turning the Covenant's own toys back on them, rather than watching them use them take out more Marines ( let alone in such a way ) brought a near smile to Buck's face. It always did.

_Poetic justice, you xeno scum._

" Glad you boys are still kicking too. "

Buck tipped his head toward the abused M12. " Seems you've kept yourselves alive. Been a lot of activity in this grid. "

" And not enough full strength squads to handle it. ", Deckard shook his head. " Everyone's been separated from everyone else. After that carrier pulled an _FTL jump in atmosphere- "_

_" _I know. I rode through it. "

Both Marines' eyes widened quite a bit at that.

" Wait- _that_ was your pod ?! ", Dubbo exclaimed. The incredulity in his voice was palpable. " We saw one hitting the Kensington Moats apartment tower. That was yours ? "

" It was ", confirmed Buck.

" What about the rest of your team ? ", Deckard leaned to one side, nearly as if he expected more troopers to come into view following Buck at any moment.

" Hate to say this, but my own team's as scattered as yours is. "

Admitting this would probably dent their morale, Buck knew, but better than giving them false hope. To their credit, though, both Marines didn't look too crestfallen. A full strength ODST squad _would've_ been like putting a blowtorch to paper, though.

But the damn EMP had seen to having them otherwise.

Decker bit his lower lip, but slowly nodded that he got the picture. " So, we're in the same boat. "

" For now. Covenant have saturated New Mombasa with their forces. Any of us still alive are bound to be outnumbered and outgunned ".

Glancing at the ammo counter on his MA5, Dubbo exhaled slightly. " Gotcha. "

" Command's out of reach of our comms- or they got taken out. We don't know. We holed up here instead- there was nowhere else to go. "

" What about the B-Net ?", Buck asked.

_It was down for me, but perhaps-_

" That's a no go for us ". Deckard confirmed. " We're out of contact with everyone. "

_So that's the sitrep, then. The UNSCMC's presence here is reduced to pockets and fireteams stranded from each other from one end of the city to the other. Not exactly a cohesive fighting force_

Somewhere in the distance, the whine and crash of plasma fire echoed and boomed- proof that the battle for New Mombasa wasn't yet concluded. Buck and his new Marines were still neck deep in hostile territory, and they had nobody to assist them. No support to call on. They had been on their own until now, and that could've been hours. The Covies had been pouring substantial- and heavily equipped- forces into the city _well_ before Alpha 9's ill-fated jump had even begun.

Most UNSC forces in New Mombosa were out on a limb and running out of steam. None of which could be said for their enemies. The Covies had resources and firepower to spare, and then some.

_I am an ODST. We live for this._

_They need to remember that. __**I**_ _need to take control here_

_"_ Allright, listen up ", Buck took a step forward, lifting a hand for emphasis.

" I've been in contact with an ONI officer. She's not far from here- Tayari Plaza. "

The word _ONI_ was not a long one, but it always had an effect on every UNSC soldier who heard it. Dubbo and Decker's faces reflected that at once, proving they were no exception.

_Oh, here we go_

" ONI ?! ". Decker frowned. There was a note of doubt when he spoke. " You said you've been talking with an _ONI_ agent ? "

" _Shiiite_ ". Cussing like an Aussie, Dubbo expressed his displeasure.

" Secure that ! ". Buck couldn't say he disagreed with their anti-ONI stance at all- because he didn't-but they didn't get ONI's " monster under the bed " reputation also came with a fair bit of strings they they could pull. " I don't like them either, but they're my mission handlers. And by extension, yours. "

" What good is ONI ? ", Deckard muttered. Not despondently-_bitterly_.

_Does he have some kind of history with them ? Could be. But that's neither here nor now._

_" _Usually ? Not worth spit. But today, the one who sent me here could be the lady to save your hides. "

" _She_ pulled my unit to drop- _right_ into the center of this mess. ". Buck jabbed a finger at the ground. " We were supposed to drop elsewhere. She tends to get what she wants. "

" You can't reach command, right ? "

" Affirmative ". Dubbo sounded like he knew where this was going, but like Deckard, he didn't have much enthusiasm for ONI's involvement.

Buck was on their side when it came to that, but he continued anyway. " Then you're coming with me. When we reach Tayari, one way or the other, she's your best shot to get you both back to your unit. Until then, I'll do what I can to keep you alive. "

He _wanted_ to promise them. Wanted to promise them, _something. _But, they weren't fools. Throwing out guarantees ( good or otherwise ) at soldiers was even more unwelcome that telling them that an _energy projector_ was about to be fired at their _exact_ position.

Instead, tell it to them straight. No bull, no cottony words. When you're in a foxhole ( or sheltered behind a smashed M12 ), smeared with shower-worthy dirt and other detritus, with your ammo running nearly dry and your canteen only having drops, getting straight and honest info was always welcome.

Even if that was to say that an energy projector _was_ about to fire on them. At least they'd know it was coming. Nobody had lied to them, strung them along, or given them a pipe hope to hold onto. It wasn't nearly the same as hearing _actual_ good news, but it better than false hope. Anything was.

" That's how it is then ", Dubbo was quiet for a moment, but then nodded. " Alright then. "

Buck saw that " At least we know what's coming "-ness written all over them. It was oddly encouraging.

If he couldn't grant them the rest of their unit right here and now, or a Pelican, or an M808, or anything remotely like that, then at least he could be straight and honest with them.

_Let's get rolling, then. Tayari Plaza won't come to us_

" Are you ready ? ". Buck reached into one of his ammo pouches, and pulled out a mag of 7.62mm rounds. " I have more ammo for you, Dubbo, if you need it. "

The Aussie, however, declined . " I've got enough for now. At least to last a few more rounds with the Covies. "

Deckard briefly examined the spines atop his Needler, then exhaled slightly. There was still a fair bit of doubt on his face from the mention of ONI ( which was completely understandable ), but when he looked back up at Buck, the noncom saw there was definitely determination there too.

_These two have some fight left in them, then._

_" _I don't trust ONI, but I'd trust an ODST any day of the week ", he declared resolutely.

" We've got your back, Gunny. "

* * *

_Wreeee,oooowowowo !_

The bizarre, warbling screeching sound reached Dare's ears, even from within the confines of the SOIEV.

_Hh !_

She inhaled sharply.

That sound. That one _particular_ noise, no matter _how_ alien it sounded in of itself, was unique to her. It was to any high level ONI operative worth their salt.

Adrenaline began to rise, in a gentle tide of icewater. Her pulse quickened.

_Can it be ?!_

Having already undone the crash harness, Dare was free to move about the interior- what ( very ) limited space there was. Nonetheless, she moved as far forward as she could, pressing into the pod's heavily dented front hatch.

Forehead nearly touching the chilled, fractured glass, Dare pressed her palms into it as she craned her neck toward where the sound seemed to have come from.

So far, all she'd been able to spot in the outside was the towering amphitheater walls, and hints of the sky. There had been no movement at all- she'd been all alone.

If that sound she'd heard was anything to go by, though, that wasn't so anymore. And the newly arrived company could very well be _exactly_ what she needed.

_It has to be one of them. I know what they sound like._

_I think, an _Enginee_r is close by_

* * *

" DECK GET LOW ! "

Dubbo's bellowed warning was a millisecond from coming too late.

_ Zssssh !_

A beam of metal-meltingly hot energy, the color of an eggplant, carved a channel through the air exactly where Deckard's head had been before he threw himself to the street's pavement. It bored into a parked semi truck's front window, shattering it with a cacophony of pulverized glass.

" Damn, damn damn ! "

Flat on his front, Deckard rolled over and over, until he was prone behind an abandoned SUV, putting him out the line of sight of the Kig-Yar sniper who'd come within a hair of beheading him.

" ***k me, that was close. ", he gasped.

_Ratatataatatat !_

Dubbo's MA5 roared, sending return fire the sniper's way at the tail end of the MA5's effective range, as he dashed the final yard to join his brother in arms.

" Jesus, mate. ", He hit Deckard on the back with a fist, keeping the MA5 raised. " You alright ? "

" Yeah- Yeah, I think so. Thanks for the save. "

" STAY. IN. COVER ! "

From his own cover point- a raised traffic divider topped with the now-familiar tufts of tall grass- Buck shouted his orders at the two leathernecks, as he risked another glimpse around its corner at the beakheads who were keeping them pinned.

_My favorite aliens !_

_Great, great_

It was a real glue-trap that they were caught in. The squad Buck had now cobbled together with these two castaways was taking direct and heavy fire from a file of Kig-Yar sharpshooters-all armed with _beam rifles_.

_Deadliest thing they've got. For the infantryman, that is_

Each of the overpowered energy weapons was a finely crafted weapon, that fired superheated energy particles in a laser-like beam. The white hot energy _instantly_ tore its way through _any_ known kind of body armor, along with anything along the lines of glass, sheet metal, etc. It could cover hundreds of yards in less than a second- even quicker than one of the .50 cal SRS99 sniper rifles that the UNSC gave to its own snipers. As a final deadly note, it was on par with the SRS99 in terms of accuracy too.

On top of all that, the beam rifles were always issued to _Kig-Yar._

_Damn birds !_

With their long hooked-tipped beaks, eyes that looked like they'd be right at home on a hawk, and the gently flexing tufts of quills emerging from their tops and backs of their heads, the race of aliens that every UNSC soldier had formally dubbed " Jackals " ( Buck didn't get why, but he ran with it ), did indeed resemble birds. Except, no actual bird had ever gotten a reputation for _shooting at you._

The Kig-Yar had, though. The avian aliens _somehow_ possessed an inborn talent for accuracy, and they had the right kind of gear to go along with it. Their beam rifles, resembling a heavily stretched-out, boxy triangle with a crescent-shaped grip handle at one end, were perfectly designed for putting heat on target with pinpoint dexterity at long ranges.

As for the Kig-Yar themselves, they were more than comfortable to sit back and let their long guns handle what came their way. Despite their muscled legs, they aliens weren't that tough at all in a close up fight, and they knew it. One on one, you could kill one without much trouble.

Except when they were hanging back. Which they were right now. Making things exceptionally deadly for Buck and company.

_Shit. We're stuck._

_Zsssh ! Zssssh, Zssssh !_

Multiple beams stabbed out from the other end of the street, at least 100 yards distant, which was bookended by another set of sealed up city traffic gates. The road leading up to it was decorated with the typical assortment of local vehicles- which were proving to be godsends for the Marines, letting them get out of the Kig-Yat's LOS and a moment of reprieve from the rain of energy streams, any one of which could pierce them through and through.

_Zssssh ! Zssssh !_

_They've got this place on lockdown_

The Jackals were _commanding_ this street from their nest: One of those sniper towers they were often posted to.

Several of them were standing guard right in front of the gate. Each of them consisted of a donut-shaped upper level that hovered about 25ft over a base platform, via the use of repulsorlift technology. A centrally placed, shimmering, cyan-colored gravity lift allowed rapid access between there and and the top floor, which was ringed with a sharply raised parapet wall to give the snipers some cover.

Which they were using, to rake the length of the street. If it wasn't for all the vehicles that were filling it, the Marines would've been wide open targets. As things were, they were hunkered and crouched behind them, furiously seeking to stay out of their enemy's dead on aim.

Getting pinned down was a infantryman's worst enemy. One not easily defeated.

Zssssh !

" _Gunny_ ! "

Though _long_ range comms weren't online, _short_ range was. Through his helmet speakers, Buck listened to the Southerner calling out. He sounded, well, somewhat stressed.

_Not panicking, though. Good._

_" _Dubbo and I can't move over here. Those Jackals have us dialed in_. "_

_" _How's he doing ? PFC Dubbo !?"

" Still alive, Gunnery Sergeant. Deckard's right, though. "

_Doesn't sound terrified either. Alright, I can work with that._

_Got to find us all a way out of this jam_

" Don't move, understand ?! Don't move. They don't have a line on _me_ yet. "

" Sarge ?! If they spot you- ", Dubbo protested.

_I know. ODST battle armor shrugs off most hits, but **beam rifles** go right through. Like the proverbial knife through butter_

_" _I don't plan to let them. " Buck checked his ammo counter, and found he had 27 rounds left.

His mouth was dry on the inside, in that annoyingly powdery way, but his canteen was down to its last third. He wanted to save those last few gulps for when they _should_ be enjoyed.

_Like when I don't have to worry about getting a beam rifle shot through it in the next 5 seconds._

_" _Now, listen: I'll be working my way along the divider over here. They don't have an LOS on me. When I get close enough to the tower, I'll frag it, and we can get moving. "

Repositioning his legs to let himself face around the end of the divider closest to him, Buck leaned out. Keeping himself as near to the pavement as he could, bracing an elbow on it, he spotted the other two.

They were still behind their cover- a bright red #550 Scuderia. The civilian version of the M12 had a front tire already punctured, and its radio antenna was shot off, but otherwise, it was intact. For now.

" Look right ! ", Buck told them.

Turning their heads that way, the Jarheads noticed him. Buck raised a hand, then jabbed his palm toward the ground several times.

_Stay low. Wait._

Nodding that they understood, the Marines pressed themselves into the side paneling of the #550. They were clearly leaving things up to their Sergeant. Which was normal for most Jarheads.

Now Buck had to make that trust count for something.

_Alright. Prone all the way. Let's go_

The ODST now went down flat against the ground. Slinging the MA5 over his back, and securing it into place, he began to propel himself forward in army crawl style.

_Sccrth, scccrh, scccrth._

Buck's armor scratched its way along , leaving long and narrow gouges behind. The rock solid, smooth surface rasped against his bare fingers as they pressed down, getting purchase and pulling him forward as his boots did the same. Inching forward that way, he maneuvered his way around the vehicles filling the road, going beneath the ones with enough clearance for him to fit, and around the ones that weren't.

It wasn't a graceful trip. Unable to stand up, Buck was snaking his way ahead, and with around 300 yards to go, he was forced to travel that way till he got to where he wanted. Crawling along and hugging the deck while fire carved the air right over your head _was_ at least something Buck was familiar with though. He'd done it often enough during training; shimmying his way beneath barbed wire with his face plowing its way though mud, while a gang of screaming DIs ( as if there was any other kind ) had fired TTRs ( tactical training rounds ) at him.

Presumably, _this_ is what they'd been prepping him for.

_Zsssh ! Zsssh !_

The TTRs had stung like a b***, but at leas they wouldn't puncture your torso, unlike the Jackals still sniping at him.

_Keep wasting ammo, beaks. _Buck dragged himself on.

_" _Sarge ?! How's it going over there ? ".

From somewhere behind and to the left of him, Dubbo asked for an update.

" Going steady ", the noncom replied. There was an tingling sensation rippling down his spine- the lingering concern that one of the Kig Yar would get a sliver of a view of him , and beam rifle him to death- but he largely ignored it. " You boys good where you are ? "

Deckard spoke up. " Yeah, pretty much. Beaks are shooting at random now. They're playing whack a mole with us. "

_That game is a scam. " _You won't have to much longer. ' Bout halfway there. Copy ? "

" Solid copy ". That was Dubbo again. " We'll be here. "

Satisfied that the Marines were still alright where they were, Buck wove his way around another #550 Schuderia. Parked/abandoned directly ahead of it, was a semi trailer truck that had been pulling several bulldozers.

Poking up above the top of the bulky, segmented machine, was the tips of the sniper tower's upper level. Buck was essentially there.

There_ you are, suckers._

Automatically, one of his hands went to check his stock of carried grenades, securely tucked into their storage pouches. Most of them were standard M9 frags, but he'd also secured some plasma grenades- popularly known as " Stickies ", for their ability to stick firmly to most surfaces, before exploding seconds later.

As he'd learned from experience years prior, the metal that Jack sniper towers were built of was one of those surfaces. Plus, said experience had given him a decent throwing arm.

Anticipation-branded adrenaline began to flow, as he reached the front of the semi truck. Rising to a kneeling position, he pressed his left shoulder into the cab.

The tower's tips were still visible. Leaning around the cab would bring the whole tower into full view- and give the beaks a clear shot.

_Got to give them a distraction, somehow._

_Oh. Got it._

_"_ Dubbo ! Deckard ! Come in. "

It was the Aussie who responded first. " Here, sarge. "

" What's the word ? "

" I need you to make some noise. ". Buck removed one of the plasma charges, and slid this thumb over the bulbous device's arming switch- oddly etched with a design that reminded him of a thumbprint.

" Is that #550 you're hunkered behind locked ? Check. "

After a few seconds pause-

" It is, sergeant. ", Deckard reported.

_Most of these empty vehicles were abandoned in a hurry. Occupants didn't lock them on the way out. A locked one's alarm is still armed, though._

_Surprised none of the ones the beaks hit have been. That'd have made this whole place **way** too loud._

" Good. That means its alarm will go off if you smash its windows. ", Buck reminded them. " So take one out. Get the Jackals to look your way and put some heat downrange. It'll give me a second or so to frag their tower. "

" Got that ? "

" Sounds like a plan ", Dubbo sounded optimistic.

" Sure, we can do that. "

Deckard did too.

_Worth their salt, both of them_

_" _Get set, then. On_ my_ mark !".

Gripping the grenade tightly in one fist, Buck stepped to the knife edge of coming around the truck's cab, making sure to keep his head beneath he cab's windows. Every second counted here.

_Now_

_" Mark ! "_

After about a moment-

_Weooh ! Weooh ! ! Weooh !_

The shrill electronic shrieking of a car alarm rang out clearly, right on schedule.

_Zsssh ! Zssh, Zsssh !_

As the Jackals responded with _another_ beam rifle fusillade, prompting Dubbo to cuss loudly , Buck seized the moment. He pivoted around the corner of the cab, and got a clear view of the tower.

It was roughly as close as he thought it'd be. About 20 ft from him, give or take, with the spiny heads of the Jackals bobbing around as they moved around, taking potshots at Dubbo and Deckard. They were easily within reach.

_Here goes !_

Pressing the switch, Buck armed the grenade. Then cocking his arm, he lobbed it as hard as he could toward the tower.

The alien bomb sailed out, hissing and sizzling, leaving a stream of glowing cyan particles behind it. Dropping to a knee, Buck quickly dragged the MA5 off his back, and got it ready as the plasma grenade-

\- struck home.

_Say goodnight, sweet prince !_

With a crackling _**bwoom**_ ,the grenade detonated. The hovering donut was thrown violently to one side, torn loose from the grip of the repulsorlift.

The Kig-Yar squawked and cawed wildly like the other worldly bird creatures they were. Their slender, sinewy bodies, along with their precious beam rifles, were thrown clear as the dazzlingly white-purple explosion consumed their position, sending smoking fragments of metal everywhere.

They wouldn't be a problem anymore.

" _Whooo !_ ", Deckard yelled, as all the detritus clanged, clattered, and thudded down onto the road. " That sounded promising ! "

" It was. Tower's scrap, and the Jackals have gone to meet the grim reaper ". The corner of Buck's mouth tugged up, as he strode forward into the field of wreckage. He kept the MA5 up and scanning, watching for any hint of contact, but there was none to be found.

" Fire's slacked off, eh ?! ". Dubbo chimed in. " Good shooting, Sarge. "

" Thank God for ODSTs . "

Coming up to one of the dead Jackals, laying face up amid the still-hot ruins of the tower, Buck nudged the dead alien firmly with the toe of his boot. Their was no response.

_Dead as dead can be. You got what you deserved. Same as any Covie, or Insurrectionist. _

_"_ All hostiles KIA. ", the noncom stated. " Dubbo, come here. _Come. Here. _And bring Deckard with you. On the double ! "

" Tayari Square's still the objective, and _we don't have all day_ ! "

* * *

They were strangely beautiful, Engineers.

A more accurate description would, granted, be _weird as all heck. _Because, frankly, there was no creature in the entire animal kingdom that you could compare Engineers to- aside from jellyfish, that is.

Jellyfish, that f_loated around in the air,_ and that had a head that looked like it was stolen from a giant tortoise. On the end of that head, were its, well, its_ eyes_, for lack of a better word. 6 onyx-colored dots, that was all.

Supporting the head, was the engineer's body. A bulging, lumpy, _vaguely_ spherical body. Trailing beneath it was an array of 4 tentacles, with 2 more poking up from the point where that long and narrow head met the body. The two upper tentacles had curiously fan-shaped tips, and two of the lower ones did as well.

As a final touch, the whole package was _levitating_\- hovering several meters off the ground via the use of internally placed buoyancy sacs. They seemed to work like a hot air balloon, keeping the Engineer aloft. They were not at all the_ swiftest_ of fliers, but they weren't sluggish, either.

As odd as all of that was, what _truly_ made the engineers_ engineers_, was their _colors._

The body ? A deep shade of purple, the same as that of eggplant, with luminous cyan ( The Covenant seemed to have a fondness for cyan ) patterns spreading out across all the hilly contours of the Engineer's " torso ". Each of the tentacles was the same color as the patterns, as was the head.

Even in broad daylight, the luminescence of the Engineer was strikingly obvious. The strong African sunlight that was filling the plaza couldn't dampen it. If night had already fallen, the glow would've been even more impressive.

Veronica Dare had studied these creatures. Seen images and watched grainy video footage of them. Scoured every last scrap of every variety of intel ONI had on them and understood that they were _the_ most sought after fixation for ONI's Section One. _Her_ section.

But, she had not ever come face to face with one.

Until now, that is. Now, there was an honest-to-God Engineer, _right_ outside her SOIEV !

It was right there. Right. There.

_God. **Today** is the day I get to meet one of you._

The creature hovered, rather serenely, a few yards outside the SOIEV's hatch, with each of its tentacles gently swaying . Its long head tweaked forward, all 6 " eyes " seeming to focus on looking through the glass at who might be inside.

With a mildly shaking hand, Dare reached out and tapped hard on the glass.

_Dnk, dnk, dnk !_

With a muffled _shreee_, the Engineer pulled back. It'd been drifting closer, the tips of its tentacles brushing the edges of the hatch. At the expected noise, though, it was clearly startled.

_Woah- easy, easy ! Wasn't out to scare you._

_Besides, you might be my ticket out of here._

Engineers were flighty creatures, easily spooked. Their usual response to danger was to huddle up and obviously _hope _that the clear and present danger would simply leave them alone. That immensely strong desire for self preservation was only exceeded by _one_ other desire they had in them:

Their desire to _fix_ things.

_Anything_, that was. Engineers were the most skilled and talented tinkerers, mechanics, and inventors in the known galaxy, bar none. Their capabilities when it came to those fields were nothing short of mythical; all field intel gathered proved that Engineers could accomplish feats such as disabling _and_ reassembling a tank's engine, in mere _seconds._

They could take _anything, absolutely anything _that was mechanical and/or electronic , and proceed to either dismantle it down to its base components, reconfigure and improve it to a level of performance it couldn't _ever_ have attained otherwise, put it back together if they_ had_ disassembled it, or-

_Any_ combination of those. They were supreme masters at their craft, to get a tad dramatic. It was no wonder that the Covenant were relying on them so heavily, given how they could take a Wraith that had been shot to the knife edge of obliteration, and get it back to full working order. Having them gave the aliens a tremendous edge, one that couldn't be matched by the UNSC.

_An edge we need. An edge, that I dragged a team of the best ODSTs I've ever heard off into this deathtrap of a city to get our hands on_

_But not any of them will give it to us. Not even this one. But, I can get something out of this-_

" Hello ", she mouthed at the skittish alien. Whether it could " hear " her through the hatch wasn't clear- this was her first encounter with an Engineer. To have any hope and chance at getting the alien to help her, she had to prove she wasn't the enemy.

Palms out, she held up both hands. Her M6 SOCOM was still tucked away; the Engineer could only see she held nothing.

_See ? Nothing to fear here. Its ok_

It seemed to _work_, too. Carefully, but with some commitment , the Engineer drifted closer. Puffs of its internal buyouncy sacs pivoting and steering it, the bulbous creature floated right up to the hatch.

A few tentacles reached out. Tentatively, but within seconds, the Engineer became more confident.

Dare got a jolt of 5-year-old level amazement, as the tips of each tentacle split into innumerable cilia ! The abruptly altered tentacle gently began to dance across the meandering cracks and fractures on the hatch's glass-

\- near instantly repairing them. The cracks and gaps fused up, as if made of liquid.

_So, **that's** how they do it ! Well, that's what it looks like, at least. The exact mechanics will likely be beyond us._

There weren't any words Dare could think of to fully encapsulate this. Both for how astonishing it was to witness, and for what it could mean for the UNSC- and especially ONI's section One.

Her mission had become suddenly that much more important. She had to get back to the rest of Alpha 9.

As the source of her newly found excitement continued its mechanical ministrations-

\- heavily thudding footsteps suddenly sounded from nearby.

They, and the guttural growling that immediately accompanied them ( " **Rgggghh** ! " ), both turned Dare's blood into ice.

She recognized both.

_Oh, God. _

_A Jiralhane. _


	4. Welcome to the firezone

New Mombasa

Tayari Plaza District

October 20th, 2552

1520 hours, local clock

* * *

_Oh, god ! A Major_

Melted Artic ice was flooding through Veronica Dare's veins.

There was a _Jiralhane Major_, standing _directly_ outside her SOIEV now.

The Engineer- the Huragok that had been the picture of curiosity and inquisitiveness- had been immediately been chased out view- or more accurately, the Jiralhane had reached out with an arm as wide around as a _watermelon_, seized the Huragok ( nearly crushing it, much to Dare's profound alarm ) , and all but _tossed_ the fragile creature away.

Dare's pulse had shot up, and she all but yelled out a " **No** ! ". Engineers were _not_ durable creatures.

With a long and drawn out _screeeeeeee _of fright_, _The Engineer had vanished. Leaving the ONI operative alone with the 8ft tall, 400+ pound space gorilla, who's kind was known to be _anything_ but hospitable.

Through the feebly standing glass window of the pod's front hatch, Dare could do nothing but stare at the giant alien officer. One paw, wide as a baseball mitt, was tightly grasping a Spiker. The other, was balled into a fist that could've passed for a medieval mace's head.

Hands that could wrap around one of Dare's, ( or her neck, which was more likely ), and then crush it into nothing but a mass of dripping, bloody pulp and splintered bone, as easily as someone crumpling up a tissue. The raw psychical strength of the Brutes, the Jiralhane, was_ not_ exaggerated- Dare had actually seen that kind of damage getting done _in person_ to an unfortunate squad of metropolitan police, during an Op on Sargasso several years ago.

If she had not been ONI, she'd have been much closer to the action then. Of course ( and needless to say ), it was also _because_ she was ONI that she'd ended up where she was right here and now.

Calling an audible hadn't ever turned out this badly.

Facing down a _Jiralhane,_ at _CQC_ range !

_This guy's a freaking _titan_. And he's close enough to hit with spit._

Epitome _of bad news_

One of Dare's hands, her right, had dropped to the pebbled grip of her holstered sidearm, an M6/SOCOM, by pure reflex. Despite the highly familiar touch of the weapon against her fingers though, along with the knowledge that it was stacked and loaded with a dozen 12.7mm AP bullets, there was nothing that could stop the rising tide of the " flight or fight " response within the ONI operative.

Every aspect of it became crystal clear to her in the heat of a moment like this. It wasn't outright fear; it was a cross between that and understanding that the beast standing outside was as deadly an opponent as they _ever_ came.

Dare's pulse had ratcheted up by several degrees. Her heartbeat was booming in her ears, with an overlapping and constant _bmp, bmp, bmp _rhythm. Lightning shot up and down the length of her spine, with a distracting tingling sensation, as a subtle but detectable tremor manifested itself in her limbs.

" Hhhhhhf.** Grrrra !** "

Out of nowhere, the Jiralhane growled, baring a mouthful of teeth. Dare did not fail to notice how they were_ perfectly_ designed to shred flesh, like the ones a Siberian Tiger, or a Great White Shark would have. They were as long as your finger, and a dulled shade of white from getting stained from much chewing on raw flesh.

Mostly that of their enemies.

_Teeth of a predator. An animal_

A mitt-paw abruptly lashed out, and grabbed the edge of the hatch.

_Crmp. Crrrmmppp !_

Already mangled metal began to groan and creak in agonized protest, as the tremendously strong alien began to rend the hatch loose. SOIEV hatches were notoriously tough, built from the ground up and inside out to resist the vicious thermal rigors of plummeting through a planet's atmosphere- but Jiralhane were strong to a fault.

It couldn't be long, before-

" F***! ". Dare rarely used such vulgar language, but it slipped out for _this_. A _Jiralhane_ was attempting to get into her SOIEV !

Her armored back hit the rear of the hatch's compartment as she lunged backwards, reminding her the hard way that there was nowhere to go.

"** Rarrr...hfff. Grrrra! "**

The muzzle of the M6 SOCOM came up, as Dare yanked it clear and brought the weapon to bear. A shot from it, or a quick volley of shots, right into an unarmored and weakly protected spot on even the heaviest enemy , could bring it down.

It was all Dare had to hold onto, as the hatch continued to give way more and more. She was _utterly_ cornered. There was absolutely _nowhere_ to run.

_And I have a Jiralhane boss about to tear my SOIEV wide open, with me still in it._ Dare flicked the safety off on the M6, and bit her lower lip, clamping down on her suddenly-rapid breathing.

_Buck. Dear lord, you'd better be right around the corner._

* * *

" Heads up! Friendlies on your six !"

The young Colombian ( presumably, given her wood-colored skin ) woman Buck was currently yelling at was very pretty- even while she was fully decked out in a set MARPAT-camo fatigues, and M52B body armor which left only her face visible. A few loose strands of brunette hair poked haphazardly out from beneath the edge of her helmet, stopping right above a pair of eyes that match the stands' color.

Eyes that were wide open; whether with shock or surprise, Buck couldn't tell. Likely, it was both.

He was only a yard or so away from her by now, skidding into cover nearby her along with the retinue ( Deckard and Dubbo ) that he'd rounded up so far. Bolts of white hot fire- suppressive shots from Jackal snipers stationed both across the courtyard and on the pedestrian bridge that spanned it- stabbed like horizontal lightning through the air, in a brilliantly vibrant display of cyan and purple ribbons of death.

" ODST here ! ". Buck slapped the marine's shoulder pauldron, as he sharply beckoned Deckard and Dubbo to keep their own heads down. "Gunnery Sergeant Buck ! Jackals don't mess around, do they ? ! "

The young woman's expression was a curious mix of overloaded adrenaline, and mild shock at having an ODST noncom seemingly materelize at her 20. That latter one was useful to Buck; he could use that and put it to good use. On a side note, he noted her uniform name tab read " Valquez ", and that she held the rank of Staff Sergeant.

_Maybe that explains why she's not _completely_ disoritented._

"Yeah. They skipped that lesson in basic, Gunny. ", she responded, only slightly breathless, looking back down at the MA5 she was gripping in both gloved hands. " I learned as I've gone along. "

" Damn Beaks ! ", yelled Dubbo, interupting.

The " beaks " were not alone, though, needless to say. A full strength squad of Jiralhane was in the center of the square, and they had _plenty_ of firepower at their disposal.

Aside from their ubiquitous Spikers, this lot was armed with Plasma Rifles too. The heavily built, crimson-colored weapons were shaped roughly like that of a squat capital letter I, with the muzzle consisting of the space between the two ends of the I's halves. Bolts of plasma shot out from between them, whipping downrange with a searing noisy, overalpping _chj, chj, chj _electronic whining.

With a few blinks, Buck deactivated his VISR. There was more than enough light here- between the sun at high noon, and the last lingering effects of the blazing blue glow of the supercarrier's atmospheric FTL jump.

It was matched, though, by the ratcheting ( and comforting ) clatter of MA5 and BR55 assault/battle rifles. Scattered in pockets across the western side of the city square, Marine and Army fireteams were hip deep in engaging the Covenant. Buck didn't have a visual on all of them, but he could see the reddened muzzle flashes from behind and over the top of parked vehicles, from behind concrete traffic dividers and walkway parapets , and even from the " cover " of rubbish bins and trash cans that were billowing with detritus.

A full scale firefight; the air was choked with incoming and outbound fire. And, discouragingly, there was more of the former than the latter. Nobody could mistake the sound of plasma bolts flying, and Buck could_ hear_ a lot of that. He'd had a solid decade's worth of experience listening to that sound.

He raised his voice to a near shout. " Give me a sitrep ! Do you have long range comms ?!"

To his right and left, the sounds of an MA5 going off, as well as a Needler opening up, boomed out as Deckard and Dubbo engaged the Covenant, with Dubbo supplying a stream of Ozzie profanity that was as steady as the stream of bullets coming out the muzzle of his weapon.

" About a dozen of us- Weapons Platoon, Hatchet Company, ! ", Valquez responded. " Comms are down; Covies brought a full platoon of their own ! Half of 'em Brutes ! "

Buck edged his head and upper torso around the corner of the parapet he and the 3 others had hunkered behind, his MA5 out in front. Immediately, he found a gaggle of Unggoy waddling hurriedly along, with a Jiralhane herding them along. A flurry of plasma bolts and spikes was spewing from the muzzles of their weapons, walking them over the side of a city bus that was evidently home to UNSC fireteam- if the MARPAT colored shadows moving around through the windows and bright orange muzzle flashes were anything to go by.

There was plenty of cover spots for them, at least. The square was a sprawling, wide open environment; streets dissected it 4 different ways. Meeting in the center, they formed into a roundabout with a broadly round, fenced off grass patch in the center of it. It was wide enough to give anyone seated ( or reclined ) on its several smoothly contoured park benches some cover from the noise of the traffic that would've been flowing through the area like water on a normal day.

On all sides of the sqaure, the sidewalks that ran along the frontage of the the buildings were lined with parapets and railings, which were managing to block some of the incoming alien plasma. The scalding bolts instantly vaporied and charred anything they touched- concrete, metal, wood

Needless to say, there was none of that going on today. What civvies that had called New Mombassa home had hightailed it out of town hours ago- if they hadn't been gunned down by the Covenant armies. The only occupants of square at the moment were UNSC infantry, all armed to the teeth, and slugging it out.

He opened on them at once, and the last quarter of his magazine tore open the head of one of the Grunts, as well as the chest of another. Cyan liquid painted the pavement.

As the stumpy aliens wailed and flailed, and the Jiralhane bellowed with rage, bringing the Spiker to bear, Buck withdrew in cover again, as Deckard did the same to reload his needler.

" Yeah, got it ! We're hip deep here. "

" Alright, listen up ! I need to punch through these bastards to reach _Tayari Plaza_ ! ". Buck made a knife hand in the direction of the aforementioned plaza, empathizing his goal. " Unless you got standing orders that say otherwise, you're coming with me ! "

" The 15th was told to RV at the ONI Alpha Site- "

A long, roaring blast from the MA5, followed by a matching roaring blast of cussing signaled that Dubbo was out of ammo. He dropped back behind the parapet, fishing another magazine out of his chest rig.

"-but we'll back you up long enough to reach Tayari ! ", Valquez finished. " After that, though, we'll have to go our own way ! "

" Good enough ! ", Buck nodded. " Hook me into your comm net. "

" Let's get this show on the road ! "

* * *

Dare hadn't known what the phrase " tossed like a rag doll " could really mean, until now.

She'd played with dolls as a child , of course, like any normal girl. Growing up on Actium ( in the tranquil days before the Covenant arrived to turn the entire surface of the world to glass and slag ), the future ONI officer had enjoyed many hours of marching her toys around and about the Persian rugs of her apartment's living room.

Mostly, Dare was gentle and caring with them. All doll owners wanted to be that way with their toys, and Dare was generally that way with hers too. Playing roughly with them, like _throwing_ them around, or intentionally_ stepping_ on them, were not the kind of things she ever remembered doing to them.

And they weren't even made of rags, either.

But, she was getting tossed like one _now. _Dare had been hefted clear into the air, hard and fast enough to give her that butterfly sensation. She was only flying for a few seconds, but it was enough to get her pretty high up.

High enough so that she knew it was going to hurt coming down.

" _Uffff ! Agh- ! "_

Air was roughly exploded from her lungs as Dare crashed back to earth, having been sent flying by the Jiralhane's industrial-level strength, which had torn her from the SOIEV, and then flung her clear. If it wasn't for her armor, it'd have hurt a lot more.

Presumably.

It still _did_ leave a mark, though, if the bolt of pain that shot through Dare upon landing wasn't anything to go by. Pavement _wasn't_ soft, needless to say.

" _Geez, -_! ", she hissed.

" _**Grrrrrhhhhhhh**._ "

Like a starving grizzly bear, the Jiralhane loomed over her, as the blonde lay sprawled on her back. The towering alien's mouth was morphed into a grimace that bared its teeth.

Equally as sharp, were the blades of the Spiker rifle the alien held. They were crusted with what had to be blood- and not of other aliens. Everything was ringing in Dare's ears, and soreness was all over her back, but she could easily focus on those Spiker blades.

They were like steak knives. There wasn't a _hint_ of doubt on how much damage they could do.

_Come on. This is it for me ? This guy ?!_

Dare didn't live to her name to move, not even a twitch. Pain or not, the icewater filling her blood, or her escalating pulse- all the effects of the height of the " flight or fight " response, was even stronger than that.

She was on her back, at the mercy of this alien who could crack her in two like a twig.

* * *

_chk ! chk !_

_" _Damn ! "

Mentally cussing out how the MA5C had half the capacity of the B version, Buck pulled himself behind the parapet again, as his hands automatically went about the process of reloading.

" _Sarge ?! Sergenat Buck ?_! "

Dubbo was yelling to him, over the sound of a frag grenade exploding somewhere downrange.

Turning his head toward where the Australian had called from, Buck found him crouched next to the base of a nearby streetlight. Wisps of ash grey smoke were curling up from the muzzle of Dubbo's MA5, as the barrel struggled to vent off copious amounts of waste heat.

" She's tapped out ! ". Dubbo indicated his smoldering weapon. " You got any spare clips ?! "

_Damn, again. I've been getting low myself-_

Brushing aside his own concerns on how few bullets he had left, Buck reached into an already depleted chest rig ammo-pouch, pulled a mag free, and tossed it to the Aussie. It wouldn't do much for himself, but that didn't matter. Dubbo didn't have much left himself, so Buck would help him out.

" Catch ! ", he called.

Dubbo did, and fed the clip into the MA5, as the rumbling, gravelly **_whump _**of some heavy explosives detonating echoed from somewhere out in the square.

It wasn't the _wshhh, bang_ of plasma charges, so it had to have been a Jackhammer rocket. Buck pressed himself flat to the ground, gripped his own MA5 in one hand, and edged out past the parapet enough to take a look for himself.

A slowly dissipating cloud of smoke, with a chalky white trail of propellant snaking out behind it, marked the impact point of what was indeed a Jackhammer rocket. Buck spotted the bulky bodies of several Jiralhane lying sprawled about nearby, with their eggplant-colored blood splashed and spattered around them in haphazard patterns, with more of it rapidly forming pools around the dead aliens, lying like bricks on the scorched and charred pavement.

It was a thoroughly violent display. Buck wished he had a Jackhammer too.

_Good freaking shooting, whoever that was. _

" _Chieftain_ ! _Chieftain, he's got a hammer ! Right flank_ ! ", shouted Valquez, over the sound of her own BR55 discharging its volleys.

Buck cocked his MA5, as he distinctly heard Deckard swear profusely, catching the last few choice cusswords. The ODST noncom sighted down the length of the rifle as he looked downrange again.

Instead of the called out Chieftain, though,he instead got a LOS on a Unggoy'd domed head protruding from up and over a parked car's bullet-pocked hood.

The stumpy alien was in the process of taking a cautious step forward, when a quick burst of 7.62mm bullets from Buck chewed through said head, and dropped the Grunt hard to the street. The hood of the car received a fresh coat of paint.

_Gotcha, punk. _The MA5's ammo counter clicked down a few rounds, but it wasn't too low. Yet.

_Ok. Where the heck is that Chieftain_-

" Look out ! Chieftain's charging ! "

There he was; 8 ft tall, and several hundred pounds worth of furry, golden-metal plated alien came barreling toward them.

The Chieftain was _anything_ but a low level threat. The Gravity Hammer it held in its paws, swung by massive arms that were nothing but corded muscle _on top of_ corded muscle, had a head the size of an office wastebasket-and one half of that head was a gleaming blade.

Its legs, no less well muscled than its arms, were propelling it forward at a pace that that closing the distance to Buck's postion not at all slowly. Each step produced a sound that resembled that of a angry rhino running at full speed.

" Sarge ! He's getting close ! ", Deckard's Needler spat out a flurry of glimmering pink shards, attempting to track the thundering behemoth.

From off on the left flank, more gunfire- MA5s, a few BR55s, and even some M6s- blasted the Chieftain from more scattered teams of shooters. The personal shields of the mammoth alien were built of stern stuff, and while they promptly flashed the color of burned gold, they didn't collapse.

Buck had already adjusted his aim, holding his trigger down and watching the ammo counter wind down steadily. The chattering racket beat at his ears, as the rifle's magazine was spent more and more.

" Frag out ! ", yelled the other sergeant to Buck's left.

**" Graaaaaaagh ! "**

The Chieftain's predatory roar was only matched in volume by the subsuquent detonation of a frag grenade, lofted by Valquez.

_Bwoom !_

Grenades didn't have the punch of Jackhammer rockets, not by a country mile, and against a target as hefty as a Jiralhane Chieftain, that was even less so. Still, it was enough to stagger the giant, and put the storming monster off balance.

Albeit, only a tad.

" Son. Of. _A bitch_ ! What're they MADE out of ?! "

_' chk. chk, chk '_

Buck's weapon ran dry as he expressed his anger. He could only watch as the blue numbers of the holographic counter ran down to 00.

_Damn, damn !_

The interior of Buck's mouth suddenly seemed very dry. He coughed by reflex, wetting his lips. Subtle vibrations, leftover from the constant discharge of his MA5, still rippled through his forearms.

The roar of the fight raging in front of him didn't slack off. It was sliding in the favor of the UNSC, though: there was less plasma in the air than bullets, and Buck could see that more of the aliens were horizontal- and soaked with their own blood- than vertical.

A few Grunts scampered drunkenly ( drunk on whatever meth-like drugs they were supplied through their breathing masks as much they were drunk on fear ) toward the rest of the UNSC infrantry. The cracking report of M6 handguns sounded, and most of the Grunts died as they ran.

The Chieftain was still oncoming, though. And only about 20ft away.

The towering xeno, still in the overlapping center of multiple streams of bullets of multiple calibers, swung that giant hammer. Like a MLB player at the World Series, the Chieftain swung from the shoulders, and knocked something into the air-the wheel-less remains of a M274 Mongoose. As if if weighed as much as a _pillow._

_Shit !_

The hunk of mangled metal sailed out toward a group of jarheads who'd placed themselves behind a sedan. Amid plenty of cussing, they dived in as close as they could to the side of the car, right as the smashed ATV landed on it with a screeching_ crump_ of wrenching metal.

" _Out of frags ! Someone get me one on that bastard_ ! ". A clearly frustrated Valquez shot at the Chieftain again, switching her BR55 to full auto mode, and directing a stream of 5.45mm rounds at the Jiralhane's neck and head.

Overhearing her, Buck instinctively reached for a grenade, but when his aching fingers touched where one of them usually hung, it was met by empty air.

Rolling over, putting himself on one side, he looked down at himself, patting down his web gear and pouches. There were no grenades left on himself.

He murmured an expletive. _How could I have run out ? What is this ?!_

_" HIS SHIELD'S DOWN ! ITS DOWN ! "_

It couldn't be.

" **Grrrrrrrraaara** **!** "

" The hell- ?! ". Buck rolled out of cover agaain-

\- and saw the Chieftain, staggering, still holding the hammer, but also reeling. Blue lighting was arcing and dancing over the titanic creature, with puffs of cyan smoke.

The shield _was_ down.

There was nothing to protect the Jiralhane now. Yells rose from the UNSC infrantry, and more volleys of gunfire erupted, even heavier than before. Buck saw geysers of blood erupting from the alien's skin, as bullets found their mark through gaps torn in the armor from when the collapsing shield explosion had rent it open.

Dropping his tapped-out MA5, he drew his M6, and racked the slide, as several Needles from Deckard's weapon shot out, and embedded themselves into the Jiralhane's arm.

The giant alien roared like a wounded bull-a bellowing "**WAGGH ! " **that made the hair on the back of Buck's neck rise. He ignored it, as he leveled his M6 at the Jiralhane's jawline, and pulled the trigger.

_Shk! Shk ! Shk ! _The M6's integrated suppressor muffled the shots, but the effects they had were immediate and clear; a fragment of the Jiralhane's helmet had been shot clean off, bringing with it ample amounts of fresh blood to splash onto and soak the alien's chest plates.

Buck didn't miss a beat.

He shot the wound, double tapping.

* * *

" You did good, Gunny. Thanks for the assist. "

With her BR55 cradled in one arm, Valquez put out a hand, fingers curled into a fist.

Buck looked at it for a second. Then, forming his own hand into a fist, he bumped it against hers.

" Likewise. But it was a group win. "

" Don't worry- I know. Plasma don't care if you're black or white; it'll burn you the same. "

_Frickin' straight_

The other sergeant turned to look at some of the wounded, and Buck followed her gaze.

Several Marines, uniforms smothered and spattered with dust and grime of indeterminate origins that left them looking like they'd been rolling around in a sandbox, were sitting with their backs up against one of the traffic dividing walls. They were receiving attention from several Navy corpsmen who were busily and quietly applying jets of biofoam and wrapping field dressings to plasma scorched tissue. A low murmuring chorus of pained grunts, punctuated by hisses and bursts of profanity, emanated from the battered crowd. Nobody was screaming, though.

Plasma burns were like that, unless they simply killed you outright.

Buck's own skin and armor was untouched by the enemy's plasma. That burned in its own way; he thought it was only right that a sergeant take some burns too, if their men did. Not that they should place themselves in front of a Fuel Rod Cannon for the sake of it, but getting wounded if they'd been- getting the red badge-

Well, there was _always_ another battle. Against the Covenant, there was_ always_ another one. Plenty of chances to get shot in the future.

" Yeah. I know. ". Buck wanted to remove his helmet, and take a few breaths of air that hadn't been run through its scrubbers, but they were still in a combat zone. It wouldn't be a wise move, even for an ODST.

Besides, he'd gotten used to viewing the world through a layer of glass. ODSTs liked living behind their visors.

Buck spared a glance at Valquez's face. Immediately, he got a sense he'd betrayed Dare, because Valquez was indeed very pretty. The woman had classic features- model's cheekbones, and almond shaped eyes. Even with all the detritus smeared across her nose and cheeks, something about that face reminded Buck of Dare.

And he didn't want to notice any other woman but Dare.

_Damn it ! She's still counting on me !_

Shaking his head, Buck then addressed the other noncom. " Staff- I'm taking my men on to Tayari. We have an RV to keep. "

" _Deckard ! Dubbo ! "_

Calling the names of the Marines he'd been shepherding, Buck turned around-

\- and found them both closer than he'd thought. The two men were standing a few yards away; Deckard's sleeve was rolled up, and Dubbo was applying a dose of biofoam to the bare forearm beneath.

_What the heck ? He's been hiding that burn ?!_

Hearing him yelling their names, they looked up.

" Get over here, Marines ! ", Valquez ordered, beckoning.

After a half second's pause, Dubbo quickly added another microdose of foam to what was clearly some degree of plasma burning on Deckard's arm, before the other Marine rolled his sleeve back down. His Needler was still with him- he'd been able to salvage additional ammo for it from several dead Grunts -, and taking it in his other hand, he began to jog toward the sergeants.

Dubbo went with him, and in seconds, they'd arrived.

" Reporting as ordered. ", Dubbo announced.

" Deckard ! ". Buck barely let the Aussie finish. " When did _that_ happen ?! "

The telltale clenching of muscle in Deckard's jaw was a giveaway to the fact that he was putting up with pain, but he didn't look like it was weighing him down. " Can't say for sure, Gunny. But, I can still shoot straight. Other guys need B-foam more than me, anyway. "

Buck raised a brow. " Is Dubbo here a Corpsman, then ? "

The Aussie indicated the aid post behind them. " I dragged his arse to see one. Told us to apply some foam regularly to keep him in fighting trim, at least for now. "

" Its not a full fix, but it'll do. "

_I'll **get** you a full fix first chance we get, kid._

Buck had every intention of making good on that promise. But, right now, they had to press on, and they had to hurry.

" Tayari Plaza is directly through _those_ gates, Gunny ". With a rustle of uniform fabric, Valquez raised her arm, and pointed toward one of the sets of traffic portals. " Check your VISR map; it'll line right up. "

" Roger that. Thanks, Staff. ", Buck nodded. He'd already done so, but she was being helpful. That was always nice.

" Hey. Godspeed to you and your boys. ", he added.

Despite the battering the unit had taken, Buck had seen that there was more than a few of them around. The ones who could still stand were still organized into fireteams, positioned around the square behind crumpled cars and half-slagged parapets. They looked ready, and they were facing out, with their weapons readied, toward where hostile contact was likely to come from.

They were still able to carry on. If Buck couldn't stayed with them, he would've. Fighting with them to get clear of this city was a more worthy mission than whatever the heck kind of madness mission ONI had sent Dare- and by extension, him- on.

_Not my place to call the shots, though. Besides, I _wanted_ to be an ODST._

_" _That'll come in handy ". Valquez agreed. " We're going on our way, no matter what gets in it. "

The corner of her mouth twitched up in a cautious smile. " Godspeed to you too. "

She took her leave of the ODST then, giving a final nod before turning away to rejoin her unit. Buck watched her leave, wishing at least for a moment that Dare had been _any_ kind of officer but an ONI one.

_Put me in the trenches. That's where jarheads belong. Not running errands for spooks._

_Son of a bitch. Might as well get back to it._

Exhaling, he turned to speake to Deckard again.

" You _sure_ you're ok ? We're moving out _now._ "

The Needler-armed Marine lifted his weapon, and nodded firmly. " Good to go, Gunny. "

" Let's get 'em. "

* * *

The burning blue glow in the sky was completely gone now.

Overhead, scanning the sky left, right, and in every direction, Buck saw only the shade of blue the sky should normally be. The haze of electric, white-peppered blue fog that'd been hanging in the air over the tops of the highest buildings in town ever after that Covie supercarrier had jumped out, was finally gone.

It was gone. Now there was only sunlight left. And the puffs of random clouds.

_Must've been slogging though his even longer than I thought. Not even bothering to check the HUD clock for that._

He kept marching.

_Crmp, crmp, crmp._

The undersoles of his boots clacked against the smooth surface of the road, keeping a steady rhythm.

Behind him, he could hear a matching _crmp, crmp, crmp,_ as Deckard and Dubbo marched along too.

They'd all been walking for about 10 minutes now, following sidewalk of the road that led out of that square. It'd been a quiet trek- aside from the sound of their boots, there wasn't a hint of activity around them. Nothing new that they'd not seen before- only more of the same.

Burned cars and trucks, plasma-holed cars and trucks. All of them abandoned, scattered on the road helter skelter, some of them with fires still crackling and snapping.

Overall, though, the stillness was uncomfortable. Like there was an ambush following them, waiting for the right moment to launch itself onto them. Buck had been checking his corners nonstop as they'd been walking, and he'd seen the others do the same, weapons up and scanning. They were all on the alert.

But, nothing and nobody was showing themselves. Yet.

" Think they all ran away. ", Dubbo finally had something to say.

" You _asking_, or _telling_ ? ", Deckard replied.

" Both, I guess. ", the Aussie admitted. " They're not in this grid. We are. That's about all I've got. "

" Don't over or under-think it "

Buck supplied his own wisdom. " Keep your guard up. If they're here, we'll deal with them. If they're not, we'll have less trouble. Either way, we stay _off_ the middle of the streets, and we go forward. "

His thumb brushed the selector switch of his MA5 as he spoke. Buck had secured more ammo for it back at the square, and it was comforting to see the ammo counter on the rifle glowing a healthy " 32 " again. If they ran into more Covies, he had a full clip for them.

And yet, the xeno weren't anywhere to be seen.

" Got it, Gunny ", Dubbo acknowledged.

" You, uh, sound like you're one of those ' Been around the block ' kinds. ", he added a few seconds later. " Voice of experience. "

_That_ was an understatement, but the kid wasn't wrong. Buck was certainly no Rookie.

_15 years. I've been in longer than a solid decade._

_Not sure what counts as " the block ", but whatever it is, I've gone around it more than a few times, that's for damn sure._

_" _You're right on that. ", he affirmed.

" Yeah. I hadn't even been deployed _off_ Earth before the Covies landed. Signed up in the Corps about 3 years ago. ", Deckard revealed. " Haven't met an ODST who'd been out there and then come back before, either. Now I've got- "

He gestured at Buck.

"-both. You've been both, I mean. "

_You really _are_ a greenhorn, Deckard. But, you're sharp one anyway.  
_

_" _Not an Earthborn, Marine. I hail from Draco III. ", Buck informed him. " Doesn't matter, though: Earth's the mother planet to us all. We're going to do what it takes to keep her safe. _That's_ worth fighting for. "

_And let nobody say different. Because I couldn't save my own world._

_" _Yeah. I don't like the idea of rolling over for them ", Dubbo declared. " Covies don't seem like the " accepting surrender " kind. "

" They're not ", Buck told him. " Take it from me. "

He knew they'd listen.

As they'd been walking, none of them had taken their attention off their surroundings. The road bent slightly to the right, and as they rounded the bend, their surroundings ballooned outwards. The relatively narrow street suddenly changed, from multistory buildings forming a canyon of metal and concrete on either side, to a wide and sweeping _gorge_ of metal and concrete instead.

The road now bent to the left, but off to its right, was an expansive area that was dominated by a deep-punched gorge lined with descending steps and sharply cut drops. Some of said drops were decorated with grassy strips, speckled with flowers. Gleaming metal railings protected the steps as they led down into the depths of the sunken section of the lowground, while behind the edges of it, high rise buildings with sparking fronts of glass ( where plasma hadn't pulverized them into smoking gaps ) soared to where the layer of blue haze had been.

They had arrived. They had reached Tayari Plaza.

Buck had immediately double checked VISR's map reading, and it synced up.

_This is the place ! This is it !_

_God, she's here._

As adrenaline began to rush into his veins, Buck did his best to control it. He couldn't afford to rush in and screw things up with this rescue at the last moment. He hadn't survived this long to fail now.

Holding up a fist, he halted the group, then dropped to a knee.

" You getting something ? ", Deckard asked him tersely.

" We're _here_. ", Buck brought his MA5 to his shoulder, as he watched and waited for a few more moments.

_Nothing. Ok, ok-_

_" _ Our ONI contact is down _there_ ". He gestured toward the low ground ahead.

" On me, boys. We're nearly there ok ? "

He turned his head to look at them. There was a palpable note of optimism in their expressions. Buck had told them that this ONI officer, whoever she was, could work all kinds of strings. Buck could keep them alive; someone with ONI pull could get them reunited with _their_ unit.

They'd follow him, but they were cut off. And that could be about to change.

" Lead the way, Gunny ! ". Dubbo held his MA5 ,he and Deckard ready to spring forward.

Buck did exactly that. Standing, he paced forward quickly, and the other two followed.

Finally. They'd _made it._

With the other two in tow, Buck led them forward. They crossed the street, boots clacking, made it to the other side.

They reached the railing that overlooked the sunken ground, and looked down into it.

Sitting at the bottom, amid its very own impact crater, was a lone SOIEV.

Torn wide open, like a pinata.

And there was no mistaking what the liquid spattered on the ground in front of it was.

Red. Blood.

They were too late.


	5. Stranger things

Earth

New Mombasa, Kenya

* * *

He couldn't swear right now.

Staring down into the amphitheater, at the smoking- and very _empty_ SOIEV that was Veronica Dare's-, Buck had nothing of that nature to say.

That was not normal for him. He was UNSC a Marine, an ODST, and an ODST _sergeant, _to top it all off. For Buck, cussing was generally second nature. It'd become ingrained into his vocabulary to the point where uttering a profane word came as naturally as breathing.

Not that he was dropping such words 3 times a sentence, ( or anything like that , needless to say ), but in general: If he was shocked, angered horrified, or sufficiently provoked in any way, Buck had no problem using " scrub your mouth with soap " speech.

But, at the moment, he couldn't come up with any of them.

He'd gotten a blockage in his throat, and not the kind that was stopping him from breathing.

" No-_God, no._ "

His own voice filled his ears and the space inside his helmet- only a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout, for all the rawness that was in it. A core of ice had materialized in the center of his spine, and more of it had seeped into his blood.

_Veronica. Veronica, I was too slow..._

_This is on me..._

Her pod was_ right_ there. He could hit it with his _Magnum_ from here-

_" _Gunny ? I don't- I don't see anyone down there ".

_Neither do I._

Leaning cautiously over the edge of the amphitheater parapet's guardrail, Deckard craned his neck, looking slowly left and right across the floor of the depressed area. There was a note of acidic disappointment in his voice, along with an edge of confusion. Clearly, this wasn't what he'd been anticipating either- and he'd been no fan of ONI to begin with, to boot.

" Yeah- its frakking _shredded_. ", he observed.

" Jeez. Door's been torn off like its made of _cardboard_..."

_That_ was obvious enough. The pod looked as Buck would've expected fresh after an orbital fall: radiating heat waves, with wisps of smoke. Its armored hull was smothered in charcoal black scorch marks that stretched up and down its sides, and the aforementioned door was lying about a yard away from the rest of the SOIEV. However, from the viewing angle they had on it, there was no way to ascertain anything else.

Such as if there was anyone _inside_ that pod.

" I noticed, mate ", Dubbo told him. " Must've been a Brute heavyweight. "

" They're _all_ damn heavyweights, Chip ! This is bad news- "

" Look alive ! ", Buck abruptly commanded.

His boots were already moving, hitting the pavement as he set off at a rapid pace toward the top of the nearest staircase that led down into the amphitheater. Buck was done _standing_ there, and gawking at the spectacle of a smoldering drop pod.

It was _Veronica's_ drop pod, damn it, and if he couldn't get a visual on her from up here-

_If you are _anywhere_ down there, woman, I _will _find you._

_" _ Deckard, you stay up here, watch our 6 ! Dubbo, with me ! Both of you- _watch your corners_. Let's go ! "

" What the- ? "

Caught briefly by surprise , the two marines took a second to react.

Spinning on his heel, Buck turned to face them.

"_ Dubbo !_ Hurry the hell up ! ". He gestured sharply down the stairs.

" Y-Yes, Sergeant ! ".

The Aussie blinked, then entered a run, shouldering his MA5 again and switching it to full auto.

" You keep your eyes open, Deckard ! ", the ODST noncom instructed.

" On it, Sergeant ! ", the other marine acknowledged.

What he didn't add loud enough to be heard, though, was an intensely derisive: " For ONI to turn up and lend a hand ? I actually thought they might , for_ once_..."

Meanwhile, Buck led Dubbo down the stairs, descending further into the lower levels of the sunken area. They moved rapidly, taking the smoothed tiled steps as quickly as they could without jumping them two at a time.

The ODST had his own MA5 up, and kept it scanning around the area, with a finger resting inside the trigger well.

_Nothing, and nobody_

_Still !_

He went further ahead, covering another flight of stairs.

They'd been built in stages, each flight of them ending in a short landing with a low parapet wall topped with a bare metal guardrail running along the left hand side. Less than a day ago, these same stairs would've been used by any number of the city's one million plus inhabitants on their way in or out of the sunken plaza. They'd have _walked_ over these steps, after having enjoyed a non-military lunch or long, easygoing conversation on one of the red metal park benches that were placed against the big, ash grey concrete garden planters, which were brimming with all kinds of lush...flora.

( Plants, basically. That's all Buck could/wanted to/ say- even if he'd had more time to scrutinize them. Which he didn't )

It was a wide, sprawling area, several hundred feet across, that was essentially a park plonked down in the heart of downtown. It _would've_ been a bustling hotspot right now, at least. Key word: would've. The arrival of a Covenant invasion force had seen to things being _extremely_ different.

_Depopulated. Vacted_.

As the two marines headed deeper and deeper in, Deckard's voiced sounded in Buck's earpiece.

" Gunny-I heard something! Sounded like a...a electronic warbling noise. "

_The heck ?_

_" _What're you saying, Marine !? ". Buck stopped, and raised a fist as he reached the last few steps of the final flight of stairs, leaning into the corner of the parapet. The ceasing of the second set of clattering boots indicated that Dubbo had halted as well.

" A..._warble_ ?! "

" I don't know what _else_ to call it ! That's what I heard just now. Reminded me of a bird, but..._electronic_. A... ' WooOooo ' kind of noise. "

_Seriously. What the fudge ?_

_**No** Covie I've** ever** run into goes ' WoOOooo ' ! What's wrong with him ?_

A perflexed grimace twisted Buck's mouth. He did not know what to make of this new information.

" Deck ? What the _shite_ are you talking about ? ", Dubbo demanded.

" No frakking clue. I _know_ what I heard. I jus- "

" Gunny ? You ever heard a Covie make a noise like that ? ", he asked.

_I've heard them roar, bellow, squawk, squeak, scream, chitter and basically imitate the whole damn animal kingdom. Except for a " warble "_

_So, no_

_" _That's a negative. " Buck visually scanned the area again,. VISR mode was still off, and the noncom still found no targets presenting themselves. He'd been ready for someone, anybody- an especially sneaky Jackal, or even a _cloaked Elite, _God forbid- to be lurking here. However, neither of those threats appeared to be present.

So far...

_So good ? We'll see..._

They kept going, stepping over and kicking aside an abandoned drinks cup that someone had tossed aside during a hasty exit.

_" _Anything _else_, Deckard ? Something_ tangible_ You _see_ anything ? "

" No, Gunny. But if it comes back, I'll let you know. "

" Take a picture ", advised Dubbo.

" Shut up, man. "

Buck huffed at the other marines' exchange. " _Stay frosty, you two_. "

" S- Yes, Gunny. "

" Roger that, Sergeant. "

" Good. Deckard ? You keep your eyes and ears open- for that_ thing_, or otherwise. Acknowledge. "

" Solid copy, Gunny. "

The noncom stood, and rounded the parapet corner, onto the sunken area's floor, beckoning Dubbo to follow.

As both sets of boots began their pattern again, they wove around the benches and planters, toward the pod, which poked up over all of it. They kicked aside discarded litter and rubbish, and anything else the fleeing locals had left behind.

The metal egg of a pod was still heated enough to be giving off wisps of smoke- faint, but they were there.

It hadn't been here long. Seeing that injected more ice into Buck's blood. If the door was torn off, but the pod was clearly still smoking-

_ What the hell am I going to find...?_

_What the hell...What the hell..._**  
**

_" _Stick close, Dubbo. "

" Yes, Gunny. "

They deftly wove their way around another planter, and then-

_There_ it was. _There_ was the pod.

_Veronica !_

Her name very nearly erupted from Buck's mouth like a striking cobra. He only barely stopped himself.

Instead, he psychically stopped, and raised another fist.

_Ok. Ok, we've made it. There's still a chance._

Ignoring his suddenly racing pulse as best he could, Buck called out; " Deckard ! You sill up there ? "

" Still here, Gunny. All clear. "

" Warbling ghost come back ? "

"No. Whatever the _hell_ it was, its still gone. "

_We'll worry about warbling noises in the not-dark later. Now ? We have actual issues._

_Veronica...hang on._

_" _Stand by. "

Buck made a knife hand for Dubbo to head left.

" Right. Moving, Gunny. "

As the Aussie headed off, Buck went to the right, circling the pod from that side.

Staring down the length of this MA5, past the glowing number of ' 32 ', the ODST noncom held back his rising tide of adrenaline. There was no telling what he'd find inside the pod, but he was going to find out. Right now...

_Here we go-_

_" _Set security, Dubbo. "

" Roger that. "

He finally came around to the opened- _torn_ open, specifically- side of the pod, and found-

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. The pod, was empty.

* * *

Again, no cussword was vulgar enough.

Buck was staring at the utterly _vacated_ interior, of _Veronica Dare's_ pod, and all he could think of was how_ badly_ he'd screwed up.

" Gunny...? "

He didn't answer Dubbo.

Not Yet.

A shudder of scalding, self-directed rage rolled its way up through all of him, beginning at his boots and ending at his chest, and the urge to form a fist in either hand was strong. If he'd had one of them loose right now- if both of them weren't busy brandishing his MA5- one of them would definitely be clenched tight.

His teeth sure as heck were.

For all the good doing either of those would've done him. He'd been too slow to save Veronica, after all.

"They got her. ". Stating the obvious was something he didn't like to do, but what else was there to say ? He didn't have the luxury of wallowing right now. There was no shutting off those emotions, but Buck had to shunt them to the side...which is what he did.

_Keep your head on straight. You're in command here._

Make _yourself do it, one way or the other._

"...Bastards _got_ her. "

" ' Got ' ?What_ kind_ of... ' got ' ? ". Dubbo seemed to think Buck was referring to the morbid variety.

" I mean the _taken_ kind, marine. "

Biting back some of that anger, Buck took his gaze off the mangled SOIEV, and raised their overwatch." Deckard ! . "

" Yeah, Gunny ? "

_I am not ONI. **I** always level with the guys I lead and serve with._

_" _She's not here. Repeat, she's **not** here. Covies must've grabbed her, hauled her off. They don't move corpses. "

_God, I don't even want to go there. Show me hers, and then I'll believe it. _

" They did- Wait. _Wait a second_. "

" Gunny. _They take prisoners !_? "

There was palpable disbelief with how he said it. Mixed with a few notes of unfiltered shock.

_Wait. How does _he_ know taking captives isn't what the Covies tend to do ? He told me he's as green as grass.._

_Who told him that ?_

_" _ Not always. They did with her, though ", the noncom replied. " Pod's empty as a church on a Monday. "

He stepped back, working his jaw back and forth, mouth creased.

Dubbo was still standing off a ways, cradling his MA5. Buck saw him direct a look at the pod, but there was no trace of him being stunned in finding out that Dare had been taken away by the Covies, rather than simply killed on the spot.

If Buck could put a name to the expression on his face, it'd be " I've seen this before. Wish I hadn't, but I have ".

_You and be both. It'd be a lie, otherwise  
_

_" _What- So, what do we do_ now,_ then ? ", their overwatch asked. Buck could swear he was speaking a tad faster than earlier.

" I thought this ONI agent was our ticket _out_ of here..."

" So did I, kid. ". Buck hated watching a jarhead's hope getting torpedoed, and the one thing that didn't make it sting like damnation this time around was that he hadn't made a _promise. _Hadn't told them it was a cast iron guarantee that things would turn out

But, even so-

" That's our situation right now, though. If I could tell you differently I would. But you know by now: I don't lie to my men. "

" Yeah...Yeah I do. Its just that-"

" Private, I didn't lie to you, so don't lie to me back. You're scared as hell right now, aren't you ? "

_Or close enough, anyway. I've been around enough newbies._

_" Are you, or not_ ? "

" I-"

" Shit. Gunny, I've been scared stiff since I was woken up this morning by the " Stand to " call. ", Deckard finally confessed. " Been hiding it all day. "

There _it is. Called it. And now he actually sounds like it, too  
_

" I thought as much ", Dubbo interjected. There was no judgment in his voice, though- as if he'd seen this kind of thing before. That was a giveaway in of itself.

Buck glanced briefly at him. Despite being a PFC, Dubbo sounded like a noncom himself. As if he'd not only tangled with the Covenant before. Maybe even off-world, too.

" You deserve a medal for keeping an even keel. "

_You sure you're a Private ? You're not behaving like one. Not like there's a uniform mold, but still-_

" Fine. Sure..._get me some evac_,_ or_ some backup, and I'll take it. "

And that's what he'd been hoping/praying they'd get out of finally reaching the Plaza. Buck could completely defend the bitterness he was harboring. He couldn't say he didn't have any himself. But, he still wouldn't begin promising them anything- and he got the impression now that's exactly what they'd wanted. Short of something he could deliver, that was.

_We're all in the same boat. All of us._

_So, I'm gonna row us out of here then. If ONI can't help these two, then I'll keep doing it. Like I was. Like I always would._

_" _You sure as hell deserve it. So, _I'm_ going to keep doing everything _I_ can to get you one or both. Understand ? "

A half-second pause went by, then-

"...Yeah. Yeah, I read you, gunny. "

Confidence had returned to the Private's voice. Some of it, at least. It was enough for now, and Buck would take it.

_" _On me, Dubbo ! ". Buck began to stride away from the pod, beckoning the other marine to follow as he again wove around the planters, headed back to the stairs.

" Deckard ! We're coming back. Hold fast; I'll revise our plan once we've linked up. "

" I'll be here, Gunny.."

_Doing a better job of holding himself together than a lot of rooks I've met. _Buck reached the end of the stairs that'd brought him down and began going back up.

_He'll make a good career marine.** I can get them through this.**_

He raced back up the side of the amphitheater, quicker going up than down, with Dubbo following as close as earlier.

As they ascended, Buck found that he suddenly had renewed energy; despite finding out that Veronica had been kidnapped by the Covenant, he had_ not_ found her body lying there, in that pod. Veronica was _still_ out there somewhere, in this city. Her mission wasn't his- it hadn't ever been- but finding her and making sure she was ok ?

_That_ was something worth getting behind. He'd keep himself and his team alive for him and themselves, but he _would_ find Veronica , no matter where in this town she'd been dragged off to. Buck could _taste_ the fresh resolve.

Well, that and the genera sense of strong _dryness_ of the inside of his mouth. It'd been a long while since he'd had a drink, and he knew for a fact that his canteen wasn't empty- or at least he was _mostly_ sure.

There was a decent amount of burning in his legs, too-but it was nothing to be concerned with. He'd pushed himself much harder and longer than this back during the ODST training pipeline. All the psychical exertion he'd been going through up till now ? It was light exercise by comparison.

_Doesn't matter how tired you get. The fight's not over. The day's not over._

_Soon as we get somewhere out of the open, I'll take a few sips. Maybe._

_" _Deckard ! Watch where we went down. You should have a visual right now. "

" Roger that, Gunny. "

Moments later, Buck reached the top of the sunken area, and both he and Dubbo jogged to a stop, as Deckard approached them.

" Regroup ! ", Buck commanded, with a lasso hand motion.

Both Marines promptly tightened formation, as instructed, but they were careful to keep themselves from standing so close that they'd have no time to get clear from a plasma grenade getting lobbed in their mist, or that a single fuel rod cannon shot could take them all out.

Even the most inexperienced greenhorn would know how deadly those Covenant munitions were. _Especially_ in a cluster.

" Ok- _listen up_ ".

Right as Buck began to address them, though-

_" WoooOOOwaaa ! "_

Out of the blue, an _electronic warbling noise_ sounded.

* * *

" Woah ! _Gunny ! On your six !_ "

Deckard's eyes shot wide open, filling with shock as he snapped the muzzle of his Needler up.

Reflexes took over 100 percent. Buck pivoted in place, raising his own weapon, all in a fluid blur of motion-

" What the shite ! " , hollered Dubbo.

\- to find himself staring down something he had _no_ freaking clue what to call.

"..."

His mouth came open, but that was all.

" Jesus- Gunny, _that's_ it ! _That's_ what was warbling at me ! "

Buck had no idea what on God' earth he was looking at. There was a..._creature_, that was hovering like a helium party balloon a couple yards away.

" Yeah. I'd bet so, kid. "

It'd emerged from out of the (very ) few un-blown out windows of the second floor of the store apartment directly across the street from the sunken area. Floating in the air a few feet outside the building, the...the thing ( for lack of a better word ), was simply _hanging_ there. It pulled it off exactly like a balloon would-except it was...twitching.

It had _tentacles. _Several of them, too. They were long, wispy, and dangling gently beneath it, while also moving around every few seconds. Inexplicably, an unpleasant shudder ran up Buck's spine.

_Ugh...**that **ain't pretty._

That summed up the rest of the thing, too. Extending from a horribly lumpy, bulbous body, the thing's tentacles weren' the only thing about it that was in motion- its _head _was too. Long and flexible, the thing's Cabeza was essentially a snake sticking out the rest of it. The black dots speckled across the tip of it must've been its eyes- _probably._

_Probably. _There was _nothing_ about this creature that wasn't weird as all heck. The fact that it _wasn't_ shooting at them, or throwing anything at them...or spitting acid, or basically not_ attacking_ in any way was about the only thing he could say he liked about it.

Not that it _wouldn't/couldn't_, though. They knew jack and squat about this thing.

_And Jack has left town. What the hell-?!_

It was then that " it " began to drift toward them. Slowly, practically serenely ( assuming the word " serene " _could_ be used with it ), the weird-ass alien approached them._ How_ it was doing that, Buck didn't even bother guessing.

And warbled- yep, that was the sound, alright- loudly.

" WoooooOOOooooooaah ! "

" What...the_ f**k ?_! ", Deckard exclaimed with a stronger color word, brandishing his Needler. " It-it looks like a _mutant grape_. That _floats_ ! "

He wasn't wrong. With its sickly-purple colored skin, and its bulging, lumpy contours, the thing did resemble a viciously morphed grape. Which was floating.

" Yeah..._.never_ seen anything like it. ", muttered Dubbo, having leveled his MA5 at the bizarre new arrival.

" My selector's on full auto...are we lighting this thing up, Gunny !? "

Buck blinked. The creature's insanely odd appearance had triggered another kind of response in him.

"Hey. You're getting distracted- _watch your flanks_ ! "

He'd already aimed his own rifle at the alien, but he took a hand off to gesture sharply at the sides of their formation. " Don't gawk at it so much that someone gets a free shot at us-"

" Hey, hey- Gunny ! Look at one of its...tentacles Its holding something..."

Out the corner of his view, Buck saw Deckard's pointing hand extended toward the alien. Aimed roughly at the rightmost tentacle-

" What ? Where? "

Buck adjusted his focus, looking directly at said tentacle now-

\- and that's when he saw it.

_Hang on..._

_Wait a second. What's- is that a-_

A helmet.

The thing was holding...a helmet. An ODST helmet.

And not any ODST helmet, either. It was a cobalt blue one, with a flanged chin piece, and a burned gold visor.

Buck's eyebrows rose nearly off his face.

__That's **hers** !__

_My God- **that's Veronica's**!_

Another jolt of chilly adrenaline blasted through him. Buck would recognize that helmet anywhere. It was _definitely_ Dare's. No mistake there.

And this...this _thing_ had it. This _creature_ Buck had no idea what to call had _Dare's_ helmet. _That_ raised a whole buffet of questions.

But, he couldn't afford to sift through all of them right now. Even if he could've, he didn't want to.

_Prioritize. Prioritize._

_" _Hold fire ! ".

He lowered his MA5.

" Gunny ? " Dubbo did not lower his.

Deckard kept his weapon up too. Neither of them shot, but they kept their sights trained on the creature.

" _Hold. Fire_. ", Buck repeated.

He took a step forward.

Then, another. Cautiously.

" I don't think that's a good idea, Sarge... ". Deckard voiced his objection.

" Ditto ", added Dubbo.

"_ Noted._ ". Buck didn't take his gaze off the creature- or the helmet.

" Stand by ".

Again, he stepped forward, working his way closer to the unknown alien. Inexplicably, Buck found himself attempting to employ the kind of tactics you'd use when meeting a stray dog- he raised a hand, taking it off his MA5, and raising it toward the alien.

Palm out, he extended his hand. To a creature, he knew nothing and zilch about.

_Well, it hasn't attempted to kill me. Yet. Heck, it seems..._

_I don't know...shy ?_

Applying " interacting with Earth animals "-logic to 100 percent unidentified alien was definitely a sketchy idea ( if getting anywhere near it wasn't, which it was ), but Buck had to be as sure as he could that this...thing, wasn't going to come at them anytime soon. As long as he could figure out if it was going to leave them alone for right now, that was good enough.

_Buddy, you try anything, I** will** put holes in you._

_But, till then..._

_" _WoooooOOOoo...reeeeeeeeeea ! "

Buck stopped, as the creature warbled again, then followed it up with a muted screech.

Several of its tentacles flipped up and out to the sides._ Somehow_, that appeared to be a very xeno version of " Woah, woah- back up ! ".

Possibly.

" Hey ! ", the noncom exclaimed." Calm down ! _Easy,_ you hear ? "

" I _think..._you spooked him, sarge ", Dubbo ventured to guess.

" Already did that to _me_ when he showed up ", grunted Deckard.

" Frick, and I thought the _regular_ Covies were ugly as sin. _This_ guy takes the cake. "

" Yeah ? Well, speaking of spooks, we_ still_ need to find one, remember ? And _I_ don't think our chum here is gonna get in the way of that. ". Buck turned back to the others.

" Alright, squad-"

**_BSHHHRA !_**

He was interrupted then, by the rasping roar of an M90 shotgun, from within the building behind the alien.

In spray of fluorescently bright fluids, the alien was violently jolted forward, then dropped to the ground like a sack of rocks.

* * *

" _Christ on a bike _ ! "

That was Dubbo.

" _What the hell was that ?!_ "

Deckard.

" What- _what happened_ ?! Someone straight up-"

"_ Hey, hey ! _Steady_, men !_ "

Buck's MA5 was up again, and his finger was around the trigger. In the span of a heartbeat, his mind had purged all thoughts of the alien- except any ones that had anything to do with who the heck had gunnned it down.

Not how weird-as-all-creation it'd looked. Not what it'd been about to do, or not do- _someone had shot it dead._

_God, could this day get any weirder ?! First that creature right out of a _lovecraft_ story turns up, then-_

_This ! Someone used him as a clay pigeon !_

_"_ Call out ! See anything-"

Buck trailed off then.

He'd been interrupted _again_\- by an out of the blue, high pitched whining sound that, much like the warbling from earlier, had a strong electronic quality.

And it was coming from the freshly-deceased alien.

_What the fresh heck- ? **Now** what's going on ?!_

_" _Gunny ?! ", called a greatly confused Deckard.

As if on cue, cyan blue lights abruptly ignited across the bizarre alien's corpse. Along with it, the electronic whining sound grew louder, and louder, reaching a fever pitch and speed.

_Ok, even _I_ know that looks like we should get clear_...!

" Back up ! Back up ! ".

Buck shouted the order, and gestured at both of them to move away.

" Hit the deck ! "

He turned from the dead alien and dived to the prone position. His chest plate cracked hard into the street pavement; out the edge of his view right before he buried his head, Buck saw the other two marines also throwing themselves down as low as they could get.

Which was all highly fortunate, because about 2 seconds later-

_BWOOOM !_

* * *

The shockwave washed over Buck like an ocean wave.

It rippled through the ground beneath him- and then right through his armor, into Buck himself.

Even with his helmet on, the cacophony of the blast _stung_ his eardrums. It was razor sharp- like whatever had been used to produce that blast charge was top shelf material.

_Ow...!_

In a half second, though, it was over. Like a thunderclap, the echoes of the explosion had already died off.

Buck had listened to quite a few explosions over his years in the field, but each of them still rattled his cranium. The noncom shook it, blinking away the onset of disorientation as he slowly raised his head from staring into the Earth.

" Marines...sound off ! "

" Anybody hit ?! "

" Ugh...no, Gunny ", Deckard reported. Buck observed him pushing himself up, digging a palm into his right ear.

" Owww..._frick_ ! "

" All good over here... I think "

Dubbo declared his status, as he also rose. The Aussie glanced at his gloves, then pulled one of them off to examine a series of fresh shallow cuts he'd earned while so roughly diving for cover.

" Shite...ah..."

" Shake it off, jarhead, shake it off ". Buck flexed the fingers of his right hand and was pleased to find that his MA5 was still in them.

" Both of you...Look alive now ! "

Shaking his head again, Buck performed an examination of his own, checking the MA5. Finding it was still in working order, he then turned to look at the alien's remains.

Or, rather, where they'd_ been._

_Damn. That thing-_

_Well, whatever it was, it's gone now. Like,** gone,** gone._

Indeed. _All_ that remained, of whatever that _thing_ had been, was a smoking patch of charred and blackened ground. Wisps of smoke curled and twisted up from it, amid scattered traces of ashes and cinders.

That alien was atoms now.

_**Seriously**. God ? I know you work in ways we don't get, but what's_ with **this ?!**_ Introduce weird-ass alien to me, then it gets blown to smithereens and all quicker than you could hardboil an egg._

_Can't things be simple ? Help me find Veronica, and the rest of Alpha-9._

_"_ It blew itself up...!_" _Deckard pointed. " Took itself out..! "

" Since when do the Covies have _explosive failsafe_ devices, Gunny ? "

" They _don't_\- till now ". Buck stood, brandishing his MA5 again, still sensing lingering spots of soreness here and there from the blastwave, and diving into the ground. Not that any of it was an issue.

" Get _up_, you two. We got to find that shooter. _Now-_. "

_ " Gunny ! Hey ! "_

Someone was shouting at him- but it wasn't either Dubbo or Deckard.

_What the-?!_

Buck_ immediately_ recognized that voice. It was coming from out of that window that the alien had been hovering in front of.

A second later, the voice's owner was revealed.

" Sarge, look ! Up there, second deck window ! _Another trooper_ ! "

As Dubbo called out, with considerable enthusiasm, a _second_ orbital drop shock trooper showed up, appearing in the aforementioned window.

The troopers's chest plate was a shade of aqua blue. His helmet had the distinctive blocky shape of the ODST sharpshooter's OI affixed to its front, and he was cradling an SRS99D-S2 sniper rifle.

_My God. Of all the places to run into this guy-_

_Here ?_

_"_ Hey, there, Gunny. ", the trooper in the window called down.

" Corporal Kojo Agru, reporting for action ! "


	6. Snipers and Superintendents

Earth

New Mombassa, Kenya.

* * *

The sniper in the window raised his free arm, rendering a half-assed, two-fingered salute. It was just barely respectful enough to be able to get away with it, while also sloppy enough to not truly count as an actual salute. Which was completely normal for him.

" Corporal ! Where the ***** have you been ?! ", Buck demanded. " I've been trying to reach you on comms all day ! ". Cpl. Agru was a walking commendation reel at worst and sandpaper-level abrasion at best, but this was definitely taking the cake.

" Same here, Gunny. ". The sniper of Alpha-9 was nonplussed, as usual, accompanied by a suitably relaxed shrug.

" Seems long-range radios are still down. Comms are down to line of sight- figured that out the hard way. "

It was only then, that Buck realized what'd been going on in his own head; he'd been missing the obvious. If he hadn't had his head sunk so deep into tracking down Veronica, and worrying about her well being so much, he might've actually cottoned onto that sooner. Sure, he'd been worried to a point about the rest of Alpha-9, but he hadn't exactly been quite so _analytical_ about it.

That wasn't like him. Buck at once reprimanded himself for such a rookie slip up. It wasn't like _him_.

"...Right. Of course, that makes sense. ". Buck hit the side of his own helmet twice, sensing a brief flare of heat up his spine, before then pooling in the lower reaches of both legs.

_Got to find a way to sweep **that** under the rug. I can't afford this_

_" _Well, get your rear down here. Stat. We're behind the 8-ball enough as it is; I need to brief you on this AO. "

" Roger that, Gunny. Thought you wouldn't ask ! "

Turning away from the window, the sniper vanished into the shadows.

_" _Deckard...Dubbo ! ". Buck turned around, beckoning the two Marines. They'd been observing the exchange with wide-eyed expressions of surprise and diluted relief, obviously having been hoping to run into another ODST, but not hanging their hats on it, so to speak.

" Meet the rest of my team. Some of it, at least."

"This is Romeo, or_ Corporal_ _Agru_ to both of you ". The sergeant gestured up at where the sniper had been looming over them a few moments ago. " Only two things you need to know about him: He's the best shot I've ever seen, and if we meet any ladies today, he's gonna chase after them. "

He only needed a handful of words to both sum up, and introduce, the sniper of Alpha-9. Having dropped alongside Romeo dozens of times over the years, Buck had long ago gotten acquainted with the smart-mouthed marksman. He'd learned that then, as was now, that Romeo was a certifiably smug prick with enough attitude to sink a plastic tub filled with cork. He'd also learned, in person, that Romeo was one of the rarer breed of marksmen that could realistically pull off a " Shooter "-Esque assassination, as he consistently landed center mass shots, along with a considerable number of _headshots_ as well.

Romeo was an insufferable prick. He was also a master with a longarm, unyielding under pressure where lesser men would crumble, and none of those traits was up for debate. Keeping such a skillset on the team had helped to keep many of them alive on too many occasions to even attempt to count, as much as it had sparked as many innumerable acidic comments shot back and forth, arguments, and the random bout of fisticuffs.

"...Another trooper, at last. ", An actual smile formed on Deckard's face. It wasn't wide, not at all, but it was there. He had something to hope for again, and it was showing.

" If he's as good as you say, Sarge, then I actually _like_ our odds now. "

Off in the distance, there was the loud hissing crash of detonating plasma- less than a mile if the noise level was anything to go by. Buck half expected Deckard to flinch-inexplicably why, he hadn't been a _complete_ greenhorn up till now- but he did not. Out the corner of his view, though, he could've sworn he saw Dubbo...flinch?

_What ?_

_Though he'd expect that. Hostiles are always close by around here...battle lines are fluid._

" First off, Private: He is. Second: I don't give a damn about _odds_. We make our own. You'd best remember that. ", Buck retorted.

ODSTs didn't care about odds. Buck knew he couldn't turn them into actual Helljumpers on his own, but if he was going to be shepparding them through this city while it was in the grip of a full-fledged Covenant invasion, he would leave an imprint of some of that commando mentality into both of them. It was the kind of thing that could keep you alive.

_If you don't temper it with caution where that's needed, though, its the last thing you need. That's why I'm around._

It wasn't reprimanding Buck was going for; he was advising. It seemed he'd actually succeeded, because Deckard blinked for a second, then slowly nodded.

" I-ok. Ok. Got it. "

Maybe he'd been actually doubtful, or maybe not. It didn't matter much now; for now, Buck had put that behind him. Or so he hoped.

" Yeah, get your chin up ". Dubbo nudged him. " We got 2 ODSTs now. 2 ! "

" I know, I_ know_. Its definitely good news..."

" Gunny ! "

The door of the shop that sat at street level- and, miraculously, one that hadn't been blown out or off yet- swung open, and out walked Romeo. His SRS99 was pressed tightly into his right shoulder, its muzzle pointed at the smudged ground tiles beneath his boots. His armor showed signs of having taken no visible damage.

He nodded at the two Marines. " Gents. "

Deckard raised a hand. " Welcome to the band, Corporal. "

Buck tipped his head at them, walking forward. " PFCs Deckard and Dubbo, Corporal. ". He indicated each of them with a quick jab of several fingers.

" Hm. So_ they're_ the interns, I see. "

The regular Marines could've been ticked off about it, but they saw no reason to be; ODSTs, as a rule, had the edge of experience over virtually everyone else, save for Spartans- even when it came to how much action said regular Marines were constantly involved in. Helljumpers tended to work in their own units; it wasn't off the mark to say that Troopers were looked up to as the ones who lead the pack among the overall family of UNSC leathernecks.

" Copy that. ", the Gunnery Sergeant confirmed. " Already filled them in on the situation, so now its your turn. Ears open. "

Romeo nodded subtly.

" Set security ", Buck ordered the regulars. " Watch the perimeter. "

Both of them had been well drilled. As they pivoted to comply, the noncom dropped to a knee, with Romeo doing automatically doing the same.

Buck didn't waste another second . " Ok. The situation is as follows: With the comms down, you're the only other member of the team I've linked up with. This whole AO is saturated with Covenant, and what friendly forces still combat effective are scattered in pockets. "

Again, the sniper nodded. He was absorbing all of this seamlessly. Whatever Buck may have thought of him, he knew when to get his head in the game, so to speak. Aside from his savant-like marksmanship, it was one of the few redeeming qualities Buck decided Romeo actually possesed.

" No link whatsoever with the Captain. I had comms with her, but we lost them. Before we did, she told me Tayari Plaza was her 20, but when we got here, she was gone. "

" Gone ? ". Romeo's helmeted head jerked back slightly in surprise. " As in- "

" _Taken_ ". Buck was careful to emphasize _that_ word. There was no point in going right to worst case scenario territory without good reason. He wasn't going to let anyone else go there, either. Not on his team.

" Didn't find enough blood there to indicate otherwise."

" Yeah. We've seen how the Brutes operate..", Romeo didn't need a reminder of how the Jiralhane tended to treat anybody they got their paws on, and they both knew it. Even with his visor polarized, Buck could tell there was a momentary grimace in the other man's expression. Romeo had seen plenty of the Jiralhane's savgery through his scopes over the years.

_Draco lll. I should've been there..._

Fighting off the reflexive shudder than ran up his torso at the memory, Buck continued his field briefing. " We need to get to the highest ground we can. Its our best shot to contact the rest of the squad. ".

" And then ? ". Romeo finally asked a question- definitve evidence he'd been listening. " Locate the spook, right ? "

_Veronica. What did you get us dragged into..._

_Spooks. Always a problem, even her._

_" _Wherever the heck she is, yeah. _Then_, we wrap up her Op. _Then_ we get out of dodge. That's the plan. "

" So we're clear: Its _your_ plan we're going with. Not hers. "

" That's affirmative. "

Romeo didn't reply for several seconds, as he adjusted his grip on the SRS99. Buck sent a glance toward the two Marines, and found they were still on lookout duty, with their attention pointed outwards.

_Hm. Good, good._

" Sounds workable to me. ", Romeo stated. " Except that we have no flipping clue what the " Op " even is. Or if its worth chasing. "

That was ONI to a T; always giving the bare minimum of intel to anyone who was dragged into assisting them on their Ops. Buck still remembered getting lectured on their dubious modus operandi _years_ ago, by none other than Veronica herself, back during the era of the _orignal_ Alpha-9 . He'd gone completely against her orders during an ONI-led op back in '46, and it'd resulted in his squad getting out of that alive- not that doing so had been done according to ONI's precious rulebook. Getting the mission accomplished was well and dandy, sure, but ONI had their own priorities. Always.

Stringing along everyone who they got roped into/ recruited into their Ops was one of them, Buck had learned back then. Vernonica hadn't said so in so many words, but she was ONI. It was all about reading between the lines. It was all about understanding: ONI's agenda came first.

_To **them**. I'll fight to accomplish any objective I get handed, but I will look after my own no matter what it takes. No matter **who** tells me to do what._

_" _I _know_. But we're not popping smoke on it. _Yet_. ". Pulling up his city map with a few blinks, Buck double chekced their own 20.

Way out somehwere past the walls surrounding the plaza, there was a barely noticable rumble- some high ammount of explosive ordinance had been used. It wasn't plasma, because that had more of a hiss-crash.

" We're rounding up the squad _first, _understood? "

"...Understood. " Romeo depolarized his visor then, and Buck got a look at what he'd suspected was going on in the sniper's head: Unfazed by their circumstances, but displeased with them nontheless.

It made perfect sense; Buck had been there more than a few times himself. Romeo wasn't often one to look that way- he was the guy of the squad that everyone knew was the most upbeat no matter what- but he was now. He'd been sucked into another ONI glue trap, and he knew it.

They'd all been. It was the same shtick as always, and now they had to claw their way out of it. Somehow.

_Damn you, ONI. Got enough trouble with the Covies..._

At that moment, more plasma detonations sounded, in a string of rippling blasts that slowly tapered off. They were roughly at the same distance as the last volley, and like them, resembled the detonations of Wraith mortars.

Except these were even closer. Only a few blocks over, it seemed, and there were a low whine and sizzle of heavy suppressive fire from energy weapons. In between, them came the rattling sound of UNSC arms, so at least someone was fighting back.

Romeo turned to glance at the rooftops lying in the vector of the explosions, with one finger coming to rest on his weapon's trigger guard. " You weren't exaggerating about the AO being hot. I saw some of those Wraiths on my way over here, and they all got escorts, too. "

" Sarge ! ", Dubbo pointed over the tops of the walls as he spoke up, with a note of slight urgency. " That artillery's going to be a problem- "

Abruptly, he stopped.

" _Out_ with it, Private. "

_What's he _stopping_ for ?_

_" _Oh_...". _Dubbo now sounded moderately sheepish, as if he was attempting to backpedal on how he'd sounded earlier. He let go of his MA5, one hand lightly clenching.

" I was...going to say we're gonna need Jackhammer launchers to take out the Wraiths lobbing all that plasma...but then I remembered you already had to know that. "

" Just...wanted to make sure we can find a day to take them out._ Quickly._ Those things are dangerous."

More distant mortars detonated, their echoing booms cracking like thunderclaps over the tops of the buildings, and the section walls.

Deckard stared at the other Marine, clearly somewhat puzzled. " You're talking to the choir over there, man. "

_Ok...now I'm getting the impression he has something against Wraiths. Even more so than the rest of us._

_That_ struck Buck as definitely someplace out of left field- he'd pegged Deckard as the more inexperienced of the two, and less likely to be jumpy at anything. Sure, it _was_ healthy to be wary of Wraith tanks, given that the bulbous hovertanks' plasma mortars could instantly slag an entire squad ( or a fully intact M12 FAV ) like the wax of candle if they hit in exactly the right spot, but-

_Hey. Stop overthinking it. Kid's trying to be prepared, that's all.  
_

_"_ I know a few tricks for handling Wraiths, don't you worry ". Buck was no stranger to battling the Covenant's mobile artillery, and he'd acquired a few ways to smoke one of them short of using a Jackhammer. The two regulars had doubtlessly been trained to do the same, but then again, anything a regular could do, an ODST could do. But, even deadlier. It was a well-known fact.

But, even so-

" What's with _him_ ? Never run up against a Wraith before? ", Romeo asked.

Buck mentally exhaled. Once again, Romeo was being his true self; stating the obvious because he _knew_ he was.

_I'll deal with what history has with Wraiths on the road. We're done sticking around here._

There was still considerable amounts of adrenaline in Buck's veins, and that didn't seem at all likely to dissipate anytime soon. It was nearly like he was still falling toward that skyscraper in his SOIEV.

_" Marines ! "  
_

Buck pivoted, raising an arm and beckoning the two regulars, as they turned toward the noncom calling them.

He beckoned again, standing. The squad had lingered long enough in one place; they had to get back on the move, and keep putting the plan in practice. An AO chock full of Covenant wasn't somewhere you wanted to remain stationary in if you were a badly understrength unit.

" Regroup ! ". He pumped some steel into his tone. There would be, and couldn't be, any delays now.

Responding with fitting speed, Deckard and Dubbo hustled over, coming to a stop alongside the two ODSTs.

" Reporting as ordered, Gunnery Sergeant. ", announced Deckard. Dubbo reinforced that with a quick nod of his own.

" Ready for action ". The private lifted a hand, and tugged at the strap securing his helmet around his chin. " Awaiting orders. "

Buck spared a millisecond to remind himself to pay more attention to Dubbo, and what wariness he had of Wraiths, before going on.

" We're moving _out_, squad. ", He informed them. " Destination is the NMPD's HQ Building. Its one of the tallest ones in the city, so its our best shot at establishing clear comms with other friendlies. "

" Keep your heads on swivels, and stay loose. Let's get going. "

* * *

Tayari Plaza

8 standard hours later

* * *

The rain hadn't let up.

It wasn't coming down with the impact of a monsoon, but it wasn't at all a drizzle. Still, it was hard and fast enough to be forming gurgling rivers that ran along the sidewalks and vanished into the drains. The random piece of litter dropped and discarded by the city's resident's during their hasty exit, was drifting along in it, either/ getting stuck in the grates, or disappearing into the sewers below.

Striding through it, The Rookie held his M7 SMG in a firm two-handed grip, with water streaming off it and dripping endlessly to the ground. It'd made the weapon look like it'd emerged from a wax mold.

Aside from the pattering rain, all he could hear was the huffing of his own breathing. It was surprisingly loud inside his own helmet.

He came to a stop behind a parked car, took a knee behind its rear bumper, used it as cover. With a few blinks, he brought up the overhead view map of the city he'd downloaded onto his VISR.

_Tayari Plaza. Ok, ok, least I have my bearings..._

At least said helmet was definitely a godsend,. With its HUD's VISR mode lighting up his surroundings, the Rookie could navigate. Most of the street lights were gone, and none of the buildings that lined them had fully illuminated exteriors, aside from the odd billboard- and most of _those_ had been used as carnival shooting practice by the Covenant. Covered in spidery cracks, they flickered drunkenly, throwing lights of all colors out into the chilly night air.

Scanning with the muzzle of the M7, the Rookie saw everything was exactly as the map display said it was: a deep sunken area directly ahead of him, but to the right, across the street.

But, what _neither_ the scant lighting nor VISR mode was showing, was the Covenant. They'd_ been_ here- he'd spotted a large blast mark decorating a stretch of the sidewalk ahead of him, undeniably the result of an energy-based detonation- but now the whole area was deserted. There was nobody in sight, hostile or otherwise.

_Where are they?_

Even as the question was formed, the Rookie knew it could mean two things: Where was his squad?

_ Where's Alpha-9 ?!_

He was an ODST. Being separated from all friendlies, while deep in enemy territory, was exactly what he had been cultivated to do by the ODST training pipeline. He was born to be surrounded by hostiles on all sides of him, with next to 0 knowledge of the overall situation, and having to extract _himself from it on his own._

At least, that was the gist of all his training, that was coming back to him right now...he still got the sense he was _absolutely alone. _He hadn't encountered anyone.

" Any call signs this net, any call signs this net...", he whispered. The comms hadn't been doing anything, but they were worth trying again. Or so he had to hope.

Broadcasting on all encrypted freqs, The Rookie called out on the airwaves again. " Any UNSC personnel hearing this transmission, this is Lance Corporal J.D. I've been separated from my unit: ODST squad Alpa-9. If you can hear this, and you can help, my current 20 is_ Tayari Plaza. _Repeat, _Tayari Plaza. _Over. "

'_ Over '. Nobody responded before._

Sure enough, nobody did. Again. J.D was greeted with nothing but silence on the other end of the line.

" Damn it. Damn..."

The adrenaline in his blood rose momentarily, as he glanced around the empty square. There was nothing and nobody here, but detritus, burn marks, and other remains of a firefight. Except, no actual remains.

_No bodies, at all. Guess I should take that as more a chance that the squad's still alive- or at least they didn't die here..._

Along with faith in the lord and confidence in his own skills, that was all he had to hold onto. He was on his own in an enemy town.

Standing, J.D took a deep breath, and exhaled, taking one more panning visual sweep of the area. Staying put wasn't an option; if nobody had received his call, he had no choice but to move on. He needed a _plan_, though; wandering about the city, calling out over and over again in the hope somebody would/could receive his transmissions didn't strike him as a viable plan.

Not anymore, at least. Over an hour of trekking through the streets, and he hadn't run into _anybody. _Nobody _alive,_ at least; J.D had walked past more than a few corpses on his way to get here. Jiralhane, Jackals, Drones...along with locals, and some NMPD officers and UNSC personnel as well. Coming across the last one had sent a shiver up this spine the second he first saw them, until he got close enough to confirm that that weren't anybody from Alpha-9.

He'd said a prayer for them anyway, and pressed on.

No matter what, though, needed a new _plan-_-

" TIRED? STRESSED? PLEASE REMAIN CALM "

Out of the blue, a highly digitized voice sounded from off to the right.

_What the-?!_

Pivoting right instantly, J.D was greeted by a brightly lit signboard that was one of the kind that rose up from out of the sidewalk. He'd seen it earlier, but it'd been completely blacked out.

Not anymore, though.

_ Now_, it suddenly was brightly lit with a blazing shade of orange- and on the front, was an icon of a green circle with two white dots. As faces went, it was pretty crude, but the resemblance was near enough.

J.D was past the point of getting jumpy at the unexpected, but he still hadn't anticipated _this. _All of the bill and signboards he'd seen up till now had been offline-blacked out and dead. Now, all of a sudden, _this_ one was talking. It had a...curious accent: very digital, but _bizarrely lifelike_ as well. Slightly high pitched, too.

_Oh. Seems the-_

_"_ CONTROL CIRCUITS NOW OPEN. WITH PRIDE. "

_Yeah. Those are on the fritz, it seems..._

_" _RESPECT PUBLIC PROPERTY ", the signboard insisted.

A half-second later, the same voice sounded again, but now from the opposite side of the street.

" PLEASE WALK ", it requested. " PLEASE WALK. "

_What ?!_

Turning toward the second point of the voice, J.D found that another signboard protruding from the sidewalk on that side was now illuminated as well- except instead of a pair of white dots, it was displaying a set of burnt orange chevrons that were pointing toward the front door of what appeared to be an...aprtment block, of some kind. An automatic power door was sealed tightly shut a few yards behind the signboard, with the light said board gave off glinting sharply against it.

Lowering the M7 a tad, J.D stayed put, but his mind was racing. He knew from the briefings he'd gotten prior to drops on other major cities across the colonies that major cities like New Mombassa had tremendously powerful AIs that were responsible for running municipal functions, like traffic lights and camera, the city gates, and of course the signboards.

But, said AIs weren't the_ smart_ ones; they didn't have personalities, or the ability to interact with you in a full conversation. Not completely, anyway- best they could do was stick to their preprogrammed phrases and subroutines. Which could get pretty clunky sometimes.

Or, surprisingly innovative. Like this one.

_You want to tell me something?_

_" _PLEASE WALK ", the signboard requested. The orange chevrons flashed again, rippling in shades as they pointed at the shut doors.

_Ok, it seems that you do. Not vague at all._

This AI...was it trying to_ tell_ him to go inside _this_ particular building?

_What? How can- its a_ dumb_ AI. It can't actually do_ that.

_...Can it ?_

" PLEASE WALK "

Standing, J.D took another sweep of the area, letting one finger slip into the trigger well. Still nothing presented itself, even with VISR engaged.

It was decision time: Keep going along the way he'd been- essentially wandering around town making periodic calls on general frequencies in the hope that he made contact with someone/ actually running into them...or-

Or he could take this AI up on its directions. Taking a leap, figuratively.

_Heck of a choice..._

J.D didn't like it, but making risky calls was something every ODST always did; as in, choosing to become one in the first place definitely counted. Now he found this was one of those moments...

" PLEASE WALK ".

Exhaling, the Rookie realized that he didn't' have as much of a choice as he thought: He'd have to take a risk here. He didn't entirely like it- in fact, he had more than few misgivings- but Gunnery Sergeant Buck had led by example, and his example was to go with the course of action that made the most sense- even if it _did_ have more than a few risks.

_Here goes, then_

* * *

Well, he'd finally found some Marines.

None of them were alive, though. Fresh through the threshold of the doors, J.D found himself in what was evidently a lobby- decorated by several dead UNSC leathernecks. Two of them were sprawled facedown roughly in the center of the room. Another was slumped against the front of some kind of counter on the left, head hanging forward.

Plasma burn wounds marked all of the deceased- and lying on the other side of the space, at the base of a flight of stairs, was the corpse of a Jiralhane. The beefy alien's fanged mouth was open in a grimace of pain/anger, and his muscle-laden body was pockmarked with bullet holes.

It was a scene that J.D had encountered more than a few times as he'd made his way through the city- dead friendlies and hostiles, but no living ones. It was somewhat beginning to seem like he was like last man alive in the whole city...

He hoped to God that wasn't so, needless to say.

_For what its worth, guys...I'll get as many as I can for you._

Slowly coming up to each of the dead Marines, J.D dropped to a knee, and gently removed their dog tags, doing his best not to be as gentle as possible. He placed them into one of his belt pouches, having committed himself already to sorting through them as soon he could afford to.

_Always remembered guys...always remembered._

Fighting off the surge of cold rage that trickled through his veins like ice water, J.D crossed the lobby floor, stepping over the dead Jiralhane ( who's own blood was spattered all around the deceased alien like a full clip of an MA5 had been used ), the ODST began to make his way up the stairs.

He'd had to keep VISR mode on, given that the lights in here were completely offline. With the stock of hi M7 pressed to his shoulder, he climbed the staircase, methodically but not plodding. He didn't want to rush, but he didn't want to drag his heels, either.

His breathing came at a slower pace, as he reached the top of the flight. Now, he was at the end of a long corridor. Unlike the ground floor, though, this level was actually partially lit up- albeit with flickering lights that weren't burning at full strength.

Casting cones of light at irregular intervals, they were at least better than nothing as the Rookie walked the length of the corridor. Even here, he found evidence of combat having taken place- the long tungsten spines that were fired out of Jiralhane Spiker rifles were embedded into the walls at random points, along with the divots produced by bullet impacts.

And, again as with the lobby, he found more dead Marines and Jiralhane, lying in various poses and spots, sporting corresponding sets of wounds.

Again, he stopped, carefully and solemnly removing the fallen UNSC's tags, while getting another surge of cold anger. They'd done their due to defend the city, and its residents- and the planet Earth herself.

He would not allow their demise to be for nothing. If anything, he was grateful that they'd lived at all.

_Only in death does duty end..._

_They lived well. That's what matters._

Carrying on, as much for them as for himself, J.D walked past the dual rows of doors on either side of the corridor. Some of them were open, others were sealed shut with the red lights on the outside locks indicating they were sealed. Even for the ones that were open, though, there was nobody within, needless to say.

Nonetheless, J.D kept going. That AI had clearly been prompting him to go inside this place for _some_ reason. He had nothing else to give him a real sense of direction, so this lead, however tenuous, was worth pursuing. He simply had to find some system in this building that was linked to the AI-

" RESPECT PUBLIC PROPERTY "

As he entered a squared-off room at the end of the hallway, said AI spoke again, from off to the left.

_Oh, so you're back._

Turning that way, J.D was greeted by-

_God. Can it be- ?_

_It is. It absolutely is...!_

There was no denying it.

Lodged firmly into the surface of a display monitor on the left-hand side of the room ( which was clearly the source of where the AI had been speaking from ), was an ODST helmet.

But, not _any_ helmet. J.D immediately recognized who it belonged to:

Captain Veronica Dare


	7. The Machine Shepard

_That's the Captain's helmet..._

Icewater flooded J.D's veins, and his pulse sped up. The second he recognized the helmet, all the marks of increased adrenaline came up at once.

He'd seen that helmet once. On that ONI officer's head, aboard _Say my Name, _ Granted, he'd had all of 5 minutes to look, as seeing her helmeted head on the view screen on the interior of his SOIEV had been the _only_ look he'd gotten at her. Still, given that ONI officers crossing paths with Alpha-9 were not a common occurrence ( and _that_ was a true Godsend ), J.D hadn't forgotten hers so easily.

The color, contours, the visor- all of it. Yep, it was hers all right. It'd been on her head when they dropped. And , now it was...stuck in a wall. Right like that, no question about it.

_The **Captain's helmet.**..its **here **_

_Was the Captain dead ? If her helmet is here, then, it makes-_

_Hey now. Don't go there. _

Slowly reaching out a hand, J.D grasped the edge of the helmet. Instantly, images of all the ODST helmet's he'd ever seen separated from their owners came to mind, flashing into his mind's eye in a half-second.

A lot of them had ended badly for their wearers. Not all, but many. The Covenant was thorough that way.

He inhaled, then breathed out sharply. It didn't do much, but it was better than letting his thoughts run off like a freight train. He couldn't afford to lose focus, despite what was right in front of him. It looked grim, there was no question on that-

The monitor that it was sunk into was still active, albeit badly damaged. The power flow was weak at best, but it was still there. There was at least enough for the monitor to be covered in a badly flickering, pulsing image of none other than the Superintendent him( it ? )self. The jade-green circle, with the pair of white dots in the center, was somehow still doing its job of being a reassuring symbol of the city. Seeing it could've had a considerable morale effect that would've done a lot of good right now ..as if there were any locals around to see it, though.

Stepping closer, J.D kept ahold of his M7S, sliding a finger off the trigger, as he carefully leaned forward to look closer.

The helmet itself was jammed into the surface of the smashed up monitor screen, sticking out like an unmined diamond, half-buried in the rock around it. The space-blue headgear had clearly sustained some serious external damage- a section of its lower right chin area was sheared completely off, along with several deep, angry gouges along its left-hand side. On top of all that, charcoal black scorch marks stretched and scrawled _all_ over it, like it'd been dropped in a fire.

There weren't any bloodstains on it. No, wait- there some was. Or, at least J.D _assumed_ it was blood. The darkened smear spots dotted over the outside of the helmet couldn't have been water, as they were sticky to be touched.

_Come on. You're no forensic expert. Still, looks enough like it...  
_

That didn't stop him from doing it anyway, though. And it was obvious enough that the Captain's helmet had survived a heavy blast. J.D had seen enough plasma going off to know what its effects were, and finding the Captain's helmet, covered in all the residue marks of getting hit by Covenant fire, raised a whole slew of questions. None of which put him at ease.

He'd been looking for answers up till now, and he still was, but this discovery hadn't proved decisive at all.

_How the heck did this even get here ...? _

Well, he could tackle the most obvious questions first, of course. Not that helmets could levitate...

Glancing around the room, J.D refrained from activating VISR mode, but even without it, he easily spotted, by turning right, a gaping hole in the room's window. He didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that the helmet had punched clean through it on its way in.

At once, he was irritated that he hadn't seen that earlier. Then again, he'd been looking for the source of the Superintendant's ( more than slightly ) vague signal, which probably _wouldn't_ have turned out to be a _hole in a window_.

Well, that much was solved, but now the rest of the mystery come rolling in. As in, why/how did an ( ONI ) ODST helmet get_ launched through a window, _even with an explosion propelling it ? Plasma blasts, if they didn't outright slag, incinerate, or disintegrate whatever ( whoever ) they hit. Even an ODST helmet, tough as they were and built to standards that blew rank and file Marine armor out of the water, should've made of more mist than metal after a direct hit by ordinance heavy enough to throw it. Well, it could handle a plasma grenade, but not much more .

The more he stared at both the helmet and the hole it'd entered through, the more confused J.D became. All the questions he had weren't answering themselves- more questions replaced them, and_ those_ were ones he didn't have answers to. It wasn't lost on him that not having answers to questions that actually mattered ( especially to him right here and now ) was something that tended to come with he territory whenever ONI was involved.

Even one of their helmets had him asking them now...

_How could this helmet have gotten catapulted into the wall like this ? It should've been dust by now..._

As if things didn't add up enough on their own. J.D had been soloing enemy territory for nearly half a standard day by now, and he'd found no hint or clue pointing to where the rest of Alpha-9's personnel ( including the Captain, if she could be called one of them ) had ended up- until now. All he had now, was a discarded helmet, and one that was jammed into the wall of a second story building.

_..No logical way she could've lived if her helmet got lobbed all the way in here...no way_

_Logical..but- what else is there ?!_

Nothing made sense. What J.D had found here hadn't told him anything that solved the real questions. As if that wasn't enough ( though, it was ), his overall situation hadn't changed, either. In fact, it had arguably gotten worse...if the worst-case scenario this helmet was pointing to _was_ actually the case.

_Maybe she's dead. I can't operate under the assumption she isn't... _Maybe_ she's gone...but..._

Going full worst-case scenario was not an ODST trait, but staring at the empty helmet, J.D couldn't deny he was definitely wondering how much of a chance the Captain had of not having wound up there. To be honest with himself, it didn't seem high.

His mind raced, as the ODST approached the window, stopping close by where the hole was, and staring out into the street below.

Just past it, the street lights on the other side were still on, but there were the only ones- everything past it was blacked out. There was barely enough illumination to reveal the rain that was still steadily falling. A salvo of artillery-like thunder cracked out from somewhere in the cloud bank overhead.

J.D's M7 was up, though not quite aimed, as he surveyed the scene. Spotting nothing and nobody, he turned back. Honestly, he didn't know for sure why he'd looked outside; it was like he expected the Captain to be standing or walking around down there, searching for it. As if that would've been what he'd have seen.

Needless to say. J.D didn't know who she was. He'd been asleep in his pod when the orders to drop had come in from her, and her name hadn't been mentioned in the 30 seconds or so between then and said pod getting positioned into the deployment bay. The Rookie had been asleep one second, and essentially been put right back to work the next. The epitome of military days, in other words.

It had _been_ that way- right up till he'd woken up, and realized how much up a creek he was: Alone, in a city that was overflowing with Covenant forces, no idea where the rest of his unit was, and no idea what his mission in the aforementioned city even was. Taking the carrier that been over ( keyword, over ) the city had been clear enough; getting diverted at literally the last possible moment had not. And, now it'd led to a tidy laundry list of problems...

All of it stemmed from that Captain. Anger manifested itself within him, and his teeth gritted themselves.

Whoever that ladt was, she'd landed them in a royal mess. And, J.D was looking for her anyway.

_She had to be ONI. Got to be. Comes in out of nowhere, and now she's gone like a ghost in this town.  
_

_Damn it...damn it...ok. Get rational about this._

His mission hadn't changed: find the rest of Alpha-9. Including the ONI Captain...which would likely cause its own special train of problems to follow and accumulate, but that couldn't be helped. What mattered right now was, he had to stay on the trail of what'd happened to Alpha-9, no matter how flimsy the leads he had got. If a shattered helmet stuck in a wall was the first hint he'd gotten after landing in this red zone of a situation, then he'd go with the only source that'd given it to him: The Super.

Of course, the Super it(him)self wasn't up to full snuff. The issues kept piling up here, and J.D was on his own. Even for an ODST, it was definitely suboptimal, at best. Given an objective to pursue, and a clear mission, a full squad of them were a juggernaut.

J.D didn't have his squad, though. Or a clear mission. This entire op had been ONI from beginning to end.

Exhaling again, he brought up the local neighborhood map in his HUD. Staying put wasn't going to do him any good, and the sooner he got moving again, the sooner he could begin making any kind of progress.

_Son of a-_

At once, he was greeted with a clump of red markers, moving as a group, down the length of the street that ran past the window off on the left-hand side.

The Covenant was rolling in. More importantly than that, they were close...

_Very_ close. A second or so later, J.D noticed more hostile marks, but these ones were positioned as being _in_ the same building as he was. That was all the sensors could tell him. It was as precise as they could get, but it leveled the playing field.

Some Covies were_ already_ closing on his position. The ones in the building weren't moving, but the ones outside were. Still, the former were definitely more in the way.

_Finally. Got something. Not on my side, but activity, at least..._

_Hostile ones, though, and a lot more than some of them._

ID'ing hostiles had an immediate effect. He may not have any answers for what had happened to the Captain or his squad ( yet; God knew he wasn't anywhere near done looking ), but if there were Covies inbound..._.that_ he could do something about. It would be his first encounter of_ this_ deployment. J.D hadn't brought all this ammo and hardware to just lug it around for the PT of it.

He wouldn't charge them, though. Firstly, there were nearly a dozen of them. Second, there were two markers at the rear of the group that were moving pretty slowy- and _those_ could be Hunters.

No way to be sure, of course. But, the ODST had fought them before, and knew the only things about them that mattered: They weren't the quickest of the Covenant's ground forces, and they were also some of the very deadliest.

At a minimum, that group had to have_ multiple Jiralhane_ in it. J.D liked the prospects of steering clear of them better.

Things had changed in a second. Putting his M7 up to his shoulder, J.D headed back the way he'd come, striding quickly back toward the corridor that fed down to where the stairwell was. Clearing his building was now the top priority, at least for the moment.

It was still dark when he reached it, so VISR mode came on again. The ODST didn't slow down as he walked, reaching the end of the corridor, hooking the bend, and descending the stairs. Some of the overhead lights had come back on, but they were so weak and dimmed, it wasn't enough.

Same as 3 out of 5 buildings he'd gone through or into up till now. The city's power grid wasn't fully operational, needless to say, and neither was the Super. Given that the latter handled the former, fluctuating lights left right and center wasn't that shocking. Besides, the shadows they gave off were often proving to be a useful way to stay hidden.

But, as it soon turned out, things weren't shadowy enough to hide the duo of Unggoy lumbering forward, a yard or so away from the bottom stair, as J.D got down there.

" _Ree-ee-ah !_ "

Between everyone, the aliens were more surprised. Both jumped off the floor at roughly the same time, waving their hands and shrieking in the high-pitched, reedy way that was normal for them.

Comical nature aside, J.D wasn't distracted. Pure reflex activated, and he shot them both before they could get over their initial panic. Like using a spray bottle to apply cleaner to a window, each alien got a quick blast. Glowing cyan blood spattered everywhere, as the Covenant collapsed rock- dead, in a puddle of the stuff.

_Clowns. Why do the Covies even bother using 'em ? Meatshields. That's all they're good for.  
_

It really didn't take much to finish off Unggoy. Honestly, J.D had been relieved to find it'd only been only them, and not one of their Jiralhane officers. Mostly because he didn't have an M90 CAWS/ M45D shotgun. Not for the first time, he thought Romeo must've been an intellectual for wanting to bring one of them on this drop.

J.D didn't linger. He stopped only long enough to strip the dead Covies of their carried supply of plasma grenades, supplementing his own stash of 3 fragmentation ones. He briefly considered taking one of their pistols, but long drilled instincts and training told him to keep hold of his M6C/SOCOM. The suppressed handgun had dropped with him on every deployment, along with the M7S, and giving it up didn't sit quite right.

But, even so-

_Could pull off an overcharge with these... _His hand brushed one of the energy weapons. _And then a Jiralhane's an easier target times 3 without that shield..._

The more gear you carried, the slower you were, and he didn't have unlimited space on himself to carry a whole arsenal. But, having an energy weapon would let him crack the enemy's body armor shields quicker, and said shields were constantly proving to be a major obstacle in taking out the heavier Covenant infantry, not to mention stopping a Ghost cold before it could run you over and smash you into the pavement like a beach ball under a truck's wheels.

The only other Covie firearm the Rookie had favored that much in the past had been the Carbine, but he hadn't found one of those yet. Plasma handguns weren't that high on his list compared a Carbine, which any UNSC servicemember knew was the last thing you wanted shooting at you from a distance. Aside from a beam rifle, of course.

Mulling the options, J.D decided that if he did find a Carbine, he'd take it, and leave the plasma handgun. For now, though, he'd carry it. The thing could prove useful, in its own way.

So, tucking the alien bombs into his hip storage pouches, the ODST stood, and kept going. He'd been idle long enough upstairs, and now he had to keep moving.

Leaving the dead Covenant behind, the Rookie made his way back down to where he'd entered the building. Except, unlike earlier, he didn't take the same route back out onto the street- the street map he'd pulled up a few minutes ago had shown the enemy advancing along that same road-

Stopping again, J.D pulled up the map. Checking its feed, he found that the hostile markers were still moving along their route, and at roughly the same pace.

J.D checked more closely, zooming in on the moving marks. They weren't running, at least. That much he could tell, and it worked to his advantage.

_Must be a Grunt pack. Their commanders always have to walk them slowly; punks can't go that quick..._

There was a substantial number of them, coming at around a dozen. It was at least a pair of squads, with no doubt several Jiralhane mixed in with them running the whole show.

Studying their route, J.D saw that they would go past the outside of the building on the _right. _If they kept going that way, they'd be well out his own route if he went off toward the _left. _He could circumvent them pretty easily that way, according to what the map told him.

As plans went, it was workable enough. Provided it didn't fall victim to what tended to sabotage most plans in general, such as any variables he couldn't control, then it was a good plan. Well, if it could be called a plan, which J.D didn't actually think it did. Not

_Yeah...yeah, let's go and give it._

He closed the map, and turned left.

A doorway directly in front of him had its lock glowing pale green; it was open. Maybe the Super had done it, or maybe it'd been left that way. Either way, it was the way ahead, and as J.D drew near, his M7S was already up, with a finger hovering beside the trigger.

He reached the door, and hit the lock. It responded, and the doors slid smoothly open.

Stepping through, J.D crossed into another corridor. It was similar to what he'd walked through on the upper floor, with more doors lining both walls, and about as dimly lit. Unlike the other one, though, it followed a more crooked path, bending off toward the right.

Going along it, J.D ended up at another doorway. Like the one that let him into this corridor, this one's lock was green-lit.

Opening it, and stepping through, the ODST then entered into a courtyard, or some kind of park, by the looks of it.

J.D had half been thinking he'd get greeted by a barrage of plasma within a second or so of the doors opening, but the area wound up being deserted.

The area was surrounded by soaring, slab-smooth walls that angled outward near their tops. All around the perimeter, the tiled floor that had lined the hallway out here ran all the way around the courtyard, with short flights of stairs set into it that led down an enclosed area of hip-high grass. The wispy flora was growing in clumps all over the oval-shaped patch of ground, separated from each other by swaths of mud that was getting pelted by the rain. There were a few benches set out, placed carefully and neatly in a pattern of general symmetry.

Mud that gave way under J.D's boots, and splashed as he jogged through it. Reeds of grass wisped past his armored legs.

Within seconds, he was most of the way across the yard, and near the arched doorway that was set into its opposite side. The ODST made right for it, spotting the now-familiar green glow of an activated door lock pointing the way.

_Is that your doing, Super ? Thanks, buddy. _

He stopped only long enough to check the position of the Covenant squad traveling down the street outside-they were still on their earlier course, and at the same pace.

Good news. He could still slip past them. Some of him wanted to engage- even if that resulted in running into some Jiralhanae.

But, Gunny Buck had drilled his squad well; _if you're alone, you're a specter, not an army. _ J.D was sure as heck alone, so unless the Covies jumped him, or otherwise made getting around them impossible, he knew to avoid them was wiser. He could engage them in asymmetric combat, but he would do his best not to wade into a full-strength unit of them, with nobody else to fight with him. Discretion was, here at least, the better element of valor.

_I shouldn't be sneaking past you. If I had my squad, I wouldn't be._

J.D crossed the yard, opened the door on the other side, and walked into what turned out to be the virtually unlit storeroom for some shop. Stacked rows of boxes and crates were lined up in relatively neat rows, along with handcarts and dollies. Instead of simply being left scattered all over the place, though, they actually looked to have been organized somewhat, as if the owners of this place had expected they'd be back here before too long- soon as the Covenant invasion was wrapped up, of course, they must've thought.

The ODST didn't bother to read what might be in the boxes that were filling said room though, as he briskly traveled through the store, and back out onto the street.

Back out into the rain, which had actually_ increased._ The millions of droplets were distorting the way the light came off what rare street lamp was still on, and the hissing sound of the hammering water was everywhere. It was a full-fledged storm, and it showed no hint of abating soon.

Not that it was a serious issue, though. Storms could a useful shroud.

Another map check, as the ODST paused behind the corner of a parked ( abandoned ) city bus for cover, his M7S up and ready. The Covenant squad was even more distant now...

_You come this way, and you're screwed...or I'll be._

_What's your move, guys..._

The Covenant moved on, though. After another few seconds, they'd moved clear out of sensor range, and the moving markers vanished. Given the scale of the area, it was enitrely possible that another one would come by for more than long enough for the ODST to get clear.

With some breathing room to work with, he had space to actually consider his options.

Lowering the SMG's muzzle a tad, he eased back around the bus, leaning his shoulders and upper back into it.

He was by himself, once again. Slipped the Covenant's net, but he was still in the mixer up to his chin, and without anybody around on his side. He was still one ODST against what was basically an army.

Well, technically not. The Superintendent was observing him. Or, at least J.D could only assume that he(it) was, given how the AI had steered him to reach the location of the Captain's helmet, using street signs as an improvised PA system. It wasn't a glitch, or some kind of malfunction with its systems- or sure didn't seem like it. On the contrary, the AI was evidently...assisting him, on his(it) own volition.

Was that even actually true, though ? Superindentent AI's didn't do things like this: Reaching out to someone, and giving them hints and clues to where to go in town, for any reason. They weren't Smart AIs of a Navy vessel; they were responsible for running a city. Managing its municipal systems,etc. Routine things like that was normal for them, so either _this _Superident had some additional programming...or it wasn't exactly a true Superindentant at all.

_You're my only lead, Super, if that's even what you are. I need what intel you can give me, or I've got nothing. No comms, no designated RV point- nothing. I'm standing here with Covies crawling all over the neighborhood, and all the ones around it.  
_

That was pretty much it. The AI had to keep helping him. If it(he?) was, J.D really needed some more of it right now.

He also was in need of a drink, if the dryness lingering in his mouth like cotton balls was any indicator. It'd been bothering him for a while, and now that things weren't filled with plasma, he decided that he could take a sip or so.

_A quick one. Got to get back on task, but my mouth is like sandpaper right now_

Reaching down to his canteen, he plucked it loose, hefted a few times to gauge how full it was ( out of long honed habit ), and found it still had a good amount left. Panning his view around, he didn't see any hint of the Covenant, and examing his HUD map, there were no new markers either.

_Alright. I have a few seconds..._

Having cleared the area, and with the bus still serving as cover, J.D stowed his M7S on one of his armor's hip hardpoint, and finally removed his helmet. Reaching up, he undid the clasps holding in place with slippery fingers, and pulled it off, letting the rain instantly drench his close-shaven head.

He was now standing under a showerhead, basically, but that didn't matter. J.D welcome breathing in the misty air, soaked or not, as he drank several gulps worth from the container. The water wasn't as cold as it could've been, but that didn't matter either. Water when you really needed it was always pure gold.

One outstanding issue was taken care of. A lot others were left, but now it was one less now.

The last few drops of the chilled liquid were still trickling down the back of his throat, as J.D placed both the canteen and his helmet where they both belonged.

It was time to find another way to get in touch with the Superintendent, and continue on his track. One way or the other, he was sticking with his plan.

He was an ODST, but more than that, he was an _Alpha-9._

* * *

_" Reyakyak ! "_

The dead Jackal that was spawled in the middle of the pavement beside the road, the back of its head riddled with holes, was- or , had been- headed toward that sniper tower that was dominating the center of. the traffic intersection at the end that the sentry would ever get there.

Leaning over the dead alien , the ODST studied what ordinance and weapons were available.

Lying a few inches away from its claws' tips, another plasma handgun lay in a divot filled with rainwater. The sentry had obviously left his sniping weapon in the tower, so J.D didn't bother taking a second energy weapon here.

As it turned out, however, the Jackal did have a plasma grenade.

_Niiiiice...very nice._

Helping himself another of the energy bombs, J.D tucked it into place. One upside to having so many Covenant all to himself- there wasn't a shortage of those valuable explosives. If only the UNSC could've replicated them...

_Blepepepep. Blepepepep. Blepepepepep !_

If there was anything that could surprise J.D, it would be the sound of a ringing phone.

_Blepepepep ! Bleepepepep ! Blepepepepep !_

It was certainly unanticipated. He'd been following the sidewalk he'd emerge onto along the right-hand side, though headed left. Along the way, he'd gone by several automated systems that the Superindentatn would have access to, like more signboards along the street, as well as billboards mounted on the surrounding buildings, but none of them had come to life.

The city itself was mostly silent as he walked through it. Until, it wasn't anymore.

_What the-that's a public phone terminal ! Yeah, it sure is._

Where,_ though?_

J'D had already reactivated VISR mode, and now he scanned his surroundings in hunt for the new sounds.

Glancing around, following the beeping, the ODST strode forward. Though he remained alert, the Covies hadn't exactly ever had the habit of handling anything that wasn't designed by the Forerunners in any way that wasn't completely violent. He might've believed it was some kind of hint of some of the city's locals still hunkered down in New Mombossa,but the city was so dead. There wasn't anybody, and he knew that was the truth.

Still, that station was active, and making noise.

It was coming from the right, he realized a few seconds later. Down at the end of the street, he was on, where it bent off toward the right, was a bank of public telephone stations, tucked beneath an overhang, that n the white light of VISR mode, J.D could clearly tell was a bank. The " Central Bank of Kenya ", to be exact. One of its New Mombassa offices, and astonishingly, it showed no outward signs of having been looted or plundered.

_Hm. If anywhere in town would've been torn apart by rioting clowns, I'd expect this place to be one of them. Seems not...good  
_

The banks's outside communication's bank hadn't even been taken out, either. One of them was all lit up- a pretty dead giveaway it was where the beeping was coming from. All the lights of the station were on, and the whole unit was essentially running itself, lacking only an actual call getting made at it.

It was still making plenty of racket, though, and none of its neighbors were. It was the only station activated, and apparently on its own. Above, at the edge of the overhang, one of the security cameras fixed to the rim was glowing cherry red at its center, indicating it was at least on.

Superintendant ?

_Its not a glitch...neither of them is._

If he'd come across this on its own, J.D might've been a bit more thrown, sure. But, after the Superintendent had pointed him to where the Captain's helmet was, he wasn't so much caught off guard anymore by the city itself talking to him. That was pretty much what was going on here. The AI had reached out to him again, and it was signaling pretty hard. It wasn't wishing in a well; a comms terminal was going off by itself, in a city that was abandoned. And the municipal AI had already contacted him, in a manner of speaking.

J.D headed right for them. He covered the distance momentarily, and soon was in front of the bank of stations.

The activated one was still going off. Still beeping and chiming.

The lights on the touchpad keys, with their numbers, letters, and symbols. Like any interface of this kind in any major city on a UNSC-governed world, the touchpad was able to be configured into a wide variety of languages depending on who was using it. On the left hand side, the receiver unit that you would speak into and listen was sitting in its cradle. On the right, were a row of input ports for you to charge your Chatter/ other personal electronic device, which was standard practice on even relatively distant frontier colony worlds.

All in all, it was something J.D had seen plenty of times before. Except, nobody was anywhere near it, and yet it was still glowing brightly all over, and beeping on and on.

_Blepepepep ! Belepepepep !_

Pivoting, the ODST performed another examination of the area , and found it clear.

Turning back at the station, he spent another second or so staring at it. He knew- or, at least was reasonably confident- that he knew why it was doing what it was doing.

He'd worked it out, and it made as much sense as it could be expected to. But, he was still trusting a computer system that was hidden from him, aside from what it was controlling. Sure, he had to find his squad and the Captain, and there was no other source of intel on their whereabouts than the Superintendant, but-

_Ok, enough. You can't afford to drag your heels on trusting this system. You followed it to what turned out to be the Captain's helmet. You followed it here. No turning away...not now._

His mind was made up. He already knew what commitment was, and right here in front of what was essentially a beacon disguised as a comms banking station, J.D let go of his M7S, and reached one hand toward the receiver.

He grabbed it, and lifted it. Turning it over in one hand, he hit the button on its side for " Speakerphone ". ( Not a feature many customers used during the height of business hours. As if that was now )

" Hello-"

The automatic response to answering a ringing phone. But, before he'd even finished it, the AI spoke .

" WELCOME, SIR/MADAM ".

It was him( it ). The Superintendent, speaking directly to J.D.

And, given that the camera up there must be online, the AI could observe him on top of that...though the ODST had known that, of course.

" TIRED ? STRESSED? PLEASE REMAIN CALM ! CONTROL CIRCUITS NOW OPEN ! "

Well, it was repeating its(him)self from earlier, from the building where he'd found the helmet, but-

Abruptly, there was a burst of static, and then a string of static-charged crackling. J.D was sure for a moment that there was some kind of _actual_ glitch going on, but then-

_" I need to brief you on this AO. "_

_" Roger that, Gunny. "_

_" Set security. "_

_" Its _your_ plan. "_

_" Destination is the NMPD HQ building. "_

Another burst of static. Then-

_" SHOULD THIS RECORDING BE ERASED _? OR REPEATED ? ", the AI asked.

J.D mouth came open. Ice shot up through his spine, in a rapid, chilly rush.

The first voice in the playback- both of them, obviously- had been immediately recognizable.

_God- its them ! That was both of them...!_

_Gunny-_

At once, his mouth felt like a desert inside, but he wasn't going to bother having a drink now. _Not_ yet.

His thoughts beginning to speed up, J.D steadied himself. The adrenaline surge had been heady enough, but even though he had good reason to have it, he had to stay level headed. This was an actual lead- or a real promising thing resembling one . Somehow, the Superintendent had watched and recorded his sergeant-Gunny Buck- and Romeo, alive and talking. They weren't_ dead._

_God, thanks. Things are improving..._

They'd survived the drop. They'd made it that long... then..there was a chance that Alpha-9 could be reformed. Not a hint of one, or the hope of one, but a_ real_ chance. Sergeant Buck and Corporal Agru were not only alive, but they'd managed to find somewhere secure and well-defended to hole up. The New Mombossa Police HQ building ? If anywhere here was suitable to be a rally point, it was there.

And, the Superindenat had shown him the way.

ONI may have screwed him over ( which was no surprise to him, in retrospect or otherwise ), but the Superintendent wasn't ONI. He ( it ? ) essentially _was_ the city, with actual control over its systems, and if anyone could give J.D a hand in getting through this town, and finding his squad, it was this AI.

Someone in this town had proven they had his back, after all.


	8. Bless the Rains

New Mombasa

01030 hours, local clock

Uplift Reserve Wildlife Park

ODST Corporal Taylor Miles, aka " Dutch ".

* * *

**_Rwawwwwwwwwwrrrra !_**

It was the growling roar of jet turbines that finally got him awake.

**Rwwwwwwwaaaaaaaarrrrra !**

The interior of the pod shuddered hard, enough to go right through the lone Helljumper .Even inside the SOIEV, and the heavily reinforced layers of his helmet and armor, the vibrations of multiple, low altitude jets had reached Dutch, and it was enough to snap him fully back into consciousness. Or, into more of an alert state than he'd been in a second ago.

By reflex, Dutch began to pivot toward the distant rumbling-only to then find out that he couldn't. Something was folded and wrapped around his upper torso, clamping down and keeping him in place.

Oh, right. His crash harness. Sometimes they were knocked loose by the hardest of impacts, but on_ most_ of them, they held together. With the clamping tightness around the base of Dutch's arms and down his sides, Dutch didn't have to wonder if his had given out on him.

It was only _then_, that he actually began to realize how rough of a landing he'd had, with the suddenness of becoming fully awake-like having a bucket of frigid water tossed into his face. Dutch's mouth was filled with dust- or at least it sure had that kind of sensation all over it.

_Jets..._

_Why am I hearing jets ?_

_Is the Air Force finally out of bed today...?_

Had he been completely knocked out ? Or just semi-conscious ? Dutch couldn't tell which it was; all he _was_ sure of right now, was that he was completely aware of his surroundings, and that he _didn't_ remember being so after he'd landed...and given how many landings he'd experienced over the course of his career, for _this_ one to stand out so much said plenty on how much of a skull-rattler it'd been.

He couldn't have been out for long, given that there was a lot of light coming in from the outside. Late morning or noon, probably. Aside from that, through a badly splintered mess of a SOIEV hatch, Dutch spotted what looked like a wide patch of sand...with waving blades of grass off on the right.

_Where the hell am I...?_

Well, he wasn't taking fire...and there wasn't anyone or anything directly outside that he could spot. ODST arrivals in daytime were usually getting blasted a _lot_ sooner after hitting than now, so if nobody was pouring plasma into him yet, he'd somehow slipped in unnoticed.

There was a mildly coppery taste in his mouth, and a slightly stinging point of pain. It seemed he _may_ have bit his tongue...or somehow managed to slice _something_ in there. Waves of dizziness, and more than a tad bit of muddy disorientation was wrapped around him, like he'd woken up from a full night's sleep ( whatever _that_ was ) . The ODST was definitely _somewhat_ out of it right now, that was for sure. It reminded him of the day he'd first experienced a genuine orbital landing impact during training with the 340th..._way_ back in the day.

_Graceful or not, I'm here...and I'm alive. Got to get to work.._

_Can't fight from inside a SOIEV, after all..._

Dutch made an effort to move his arms, and found they responded- slightly stiffly, but they were operational at least.

The same went for his hands. Every movement wasn't as quick as normal, though they fluid enough to let him get ahold of his harness' release clasps. Without having to do it more than once, he begin to undo them.

_Damn, that was a bruising touchdown. Better do a gear check before I step into the mixer_

_Got to see if I can raise Gunny, as well.._

That sense of staticly-popping lightheadedness was still clinging to him, but if he could hear_ jets_\- the Covenant didn't use jets- that told Dutch that he sure hadn't landed in some dusty, remote rear echelon sector. Spotting that Supercarrier on the descent alone had been plenty of a hint that he was going head ( or rather, feet ) first into a red zone-typical and par for the course for an ODST. Getting thrown into adverse situations was common enough for them by design, let alone by accident.

He pulled the harness loose from his shoulders, and shrugged them free. The movement revealed there was considerable soreness...pretty much all over him, but that wasn't enough to be a real problem right now. He still had mobility, as he immediately made to check that his M7S was still securely tucked into his armor.

It was. Dutch examined the SMG, found it was still working, then repeated the process of find-and-make-sure-its-not-busted for his M6S sidearm. Once again, the result came up green.

So, at least his guns were good to go; he didn't need to bother checking on his combat knife, which he could tell remained snugly slotted into its sheath on his chestplate. A _blade_ didn't ever lose reception, needless to say, or lost the ability to carve something up because it'd gotten slammed around from an orbital drop.

Last but not least in his arsenal check, was the top shelf item: The M6 Spartan Laser. It took up most of the left side of the pod, but when Dutch pried open an access panel on its EB-green colored sides to find out if it was still operational, he didn't care-once again- how bulky was.

_Survived the drop. You're ok...you're ok._

All that was left now was priming the explosive door bolts, so Dutch got to it. After several seconds, all of them were prepped and green lit, so he pressed himself against the rear of the pod, then hit the activator.

With a _Bwaaaaang , _the bolts did their job, sending the hatch sailing away. Instantly, bright white sunlight streamed in, but Dutch's helmet faceplate automatically responded by turning up the polarization, shielding him from the mighty glare.

_Time to get in the game. _The ODST let himself slide into that old frame of mind, the one that had seen him through the past 20+years of combat against the Covenant. It was time to focus on being a Helljumper again, ignoring whatever scheming strings ONI might've attached to him.

_Need to get my bearings, pronto_

Grasping the M7 in both hands, Dutch stood, and flicked off the weapons' safety. A second later, he then leapt over the SOIEV's threshold.

The ground under his boots was firm, not giving much when he landed. Now that he was free of the pod, the ODST had a better view of his surroundings, and he quickly scanned it, with one finger resting beside the raised M7's trigger.

Nobody had been shooting at him, so he didn't exactly expect to find a Jiralhane bearing down on his 20 right now. Still, as he looked around him, Dutch was amazed at how...tranquil the area was.

He'd evidently landed on a _beach-_an actual, genuine _beach. _

Tan-gold sand stretched out in front of him, for about a thousand yards or so, before it curved off to the right and out of view. To Dutch's left was the expanse of water that was obviously the Indian Ocean, while on the right, a jumbled mass of jade green foliage towered about 20 or so feet high, marking the edge of jungle.

Oh, and on the horizon, the building-block silhouette of the New Mombasa downtown skyline stood out clear as day. The orbital elevator wasn't there, but if it'd been knocked down ( and you would need stupid levels of firepower to achieve _that_ ), then there'd be columns of ash and dust that could've been seen even from here.

Having studied the holo-map of their DZ prior to leaving _Say My Name, _Dutch was generally certain he now knew where he was:

_The Uplift Nature Reserve Park !_

Of course. The map had shown everything, and they'd had plenty of time to examine it. Dutch recalled from the pre-drop map session that there was a large park just like this on the west side of the south peninsula of NM, right by the orbital tether. There'd been sat imagery of the area aside from the holorgraphic ones, and Dutch remembered seeing plenty of heavy jungle lining the waterside as being included on the parks' grounds.

The real problem with all that was, though, was right around when he was getting to examine it more closely, that ONI spook had turned up and shanghaied them into her mystery op.

But, what in God's name had happened to everyone else in Alpha-9...?

" Comms check, comms check. Gunny, are you receiving, over ? "

Switching on the squad's freq , Dutch sent out a transmission. Up on his HUD, he could tell that his comms _was_ sending out a signal, but-

...

Nothing.

With his fingers still pressed against the helmet's transmitter, Dutch called out again, raising the volume by a few notches. " _Gunny !_ Its Dutch here. Are you receiving ?!. Over. "

He switched to receive mode himself, waiting for an answer. Again, though, after several seconds, there was nothing.

There was a _complete _lack of activity on the squad freq. Barley even clicks and crackling sounded in Dutch's ear.

_Something must be gumming up the works. _He craned his neck up at the sky, but there was none of that bluish hue that been all over the place when the carrier had jumped. Instead, the sun was out, and there were clumps of white clouds scattered here and there.

If there was some kind of interference stopping signals from going back and forth, then it wasn't because of that EMP-bomb effect, courtesy of the Covies' dumb slipspace move. There was no telling what was stopping the rest of the squad from hearing him...

Aside from the worst, that was.

On a brighter note, though, Dutch wasn't alone. He'd heard jets a minute or so ago...so where were they ? At least the Air Force had to be in town, and despite all the shredded hulks of destroyed UNSC ships he'd gone past during freefall ( the sight of which always stung deeply ), Dutch knew that Marine forces must've been deployed already from elsewhere in Africa as soon as the Covies began to make planetfall on Earth. If the response at Reach had been fast, then the reaction to aliens on Earth would be downright greased lightning with a side of avalanche.

**Rwwwaaaaaaaa-!**

**RWAAAAAAA-!**

From somewhere behind , on right, and above him, the growl of an approaching jet craft suddenly became detectable, and only got louder and louder. Something was coming in, and quickly.

_More friendlies inbound..! _Pivoting that way, Dutch glanced up at the sky, searching the pale blue for the oncoming plane/s

.A few seconds later, a pair of dark specks shot out of a cloudbank, leaving pretty white contrails behind them, as they sped along on a course that would take them right over the beach. They weren't close, but judging from their compact, jagged outlines that were already distantly visible, they were probably F-99 Wombat recon drones.

_Flying cameras, that's what they are. Which is helpful, sure, but I'd prefer deadlier backup..._

_...if there is any._

" Quite a hurry for a bunch of un-gunned robots ", commented the ODST.

Sending anything unarmed in the same AO as the Covenant was always a dangerous game. They would as readily shoot you dead no matter how much firepower you were carrying- or none at all.

" It ain't safe this neighborhood for the likes of you... "

Fighter bombers on station or not though, the UNSC _was_ still in town, and if they were sending multiple flights of recon aircraft into the area, then a ground operation was in the works, if not already underway. Recon wasn't done on areas you'd pulled out of entirely, and weren't prepping to go back into soon. Or, ones you were already committed to.

Joining a ongoing UNSC assault was a pretty good ( at a minimum ) chance at tracking down the rest of the squad. After all, as capable as ODSTs were at operating on their own, that was only to be done as a last resort. You were always more effective with the rest of the team- not to mention your higher survival odds.

It wasn't the original plan of boarding the ( now non existent ) Covie carrier, but rendezvousing with the rest of Alpha-9 was always going to high on his priority list, no matter what ONI wanted. Even standing around on this beach, nice as it was.

He'd done that long enough; now he needed to get a _move on_ already.

_Ok..._

Having a plan of action in hand, along with a fully loaded M7S, was enough to satisfy any ODST, at least basically. It wasn't likely that ONI would've clued them in on what " classified, but we promise its vital " mission they had in mind for Alpha-9 ,anyway. Dutch would've followed his orders on that " plan " regardless ( unless it began to reach typical ONI levels of scum ), but now that he was isolated and cut off, he had to take things into his own hands.

_ONI's_ op could wait. He was going to find _his_ team, right _now_.

Taking his eyes off the sky, Dutch faced the wall of plants, and began to stride forward, while keeping the M7S raised. There was still no hint of movement yet, but that could change in a flash. A cloaked Elite could easily hide himself in the shadows of all the densely packed foliage, along with a whole squad of his buddies.

_Wouldn't _that_ be a problem, and then some..._

Zeroing in on the trees, Dutch saw no sign of them ( thankfully ), and as he entered the , he was in among the heavy vegetation, brushing through the rustling leaves and blades of grass , as he continued on his way inland. All he could do right now, was head toward where the drones had been going, and see just _how_ remotely stranded he actually was. New Mombasa was no backwater village on some frontier colony, though, and Dutch knew he'd have plenty of ground to cover if it turned out he was _miles_ from the nearest friendlies...well then.

Linking up with the rest of Alpha-9 could be a tad tricky.

Just a tad, at the _worst_, God willing.

But, if he was going to get out of this Xeno-infested town alive, then he was going to bring his squad with him.

Dead or alive, he was going to find them.

* * *

" WARNING: ELECTRIFIED FENCE "

" ACTIVE CURRENT. STAY BACK "

_Somehow_, the posted warning was still readable.

That wouldn't be anything to write home about, except that a hunk of severely mangled metal, as long as a school bus and roughly a yard thicc, was sitting squarely across the width of the perimeter barrier. There was a gap completely and fully smashed open, giving an easy assess route in or out.

It wasn't alone, either. Stabbed and smashed into the ground all around it were more pieces and loose bits of more debris, scattered about as haphazardly as possible. There definitely wasn't any doubt that all this...detritus, had fallen out of the sky.

_Shame it didn't land on a Wraith...I don't have infinite ammo for this laser I've got_

The hefty slab of scrap metal had some serious scorch marks all over it-telltale signs it'd dropped in from space. Its surface was the gunmetal ash color of Titanium-A armor plating, which could only mean that it'd come from one of those Navy vessels currently hanging shattered in orbit.

A quick, molten twinge of anger shot up Dutch's spine, and pulsed down through to collect in his legs. Ever since the decimation at Tribute, the Navy was as much his kin as any ODST, and coming across the charred remains of one of their ships so close up was a reminder he could do without.

The rage was helpful, though. As if he needed more reason to kill Covenant.

_Damn Covies...The Navy's taking the whole fight against them on the chin._

_Demons._

Slotting that anger into the metaphorical back pocket, Dutch maintained his grip on the M7S,and walked up to put a boot on the fragment's leading edge. Stepping fully onto it, he headed all the way up the length , before stepping off once he reached the end.

As he strode ahead, Dutch saw that the jungled area he'd been going though up till now was beginning to open up. _Somewhat; _there was still plenty of foliage ahead and around him, but out ahead, about a few dozen yards, the terrain changed to an open plain, without a mass of trees immediately visible.

He couldn't make out much past the rest of the plants in his way, though, with the overall thickness of them still pretty obscuring. After pushing forward for another half minute or so, however, Dutch emerged out onto landscape that a _lot_ more room.

As in, a _lot_ more. If the jungle behind him was all elbow-to-elbow and more or less boxed in, then the plains he'd just strolled into was flipping a switch.

In every direction, knee-high tan grass rolled out, carpeting a series of gradually sloping hills, with jumbled collections of dusty-grey boulders sitting at the base of them. There weren't any trees that he could see, but there were some stumpy bushes/shrubs growing in their own separate clusters, like the way cacti would in the Sonoran.

_God, I need an M12 to cover all this..._

Taking in the scenery wasn't the point of looking around though, needless to say. Dutch was in the neighborhood for_ friendlies_-even Army ones.

But, there was nobody in sight. Given that the area immediately in front of him was nothing but grass, bordered with one of the boulder piles , it'd be hard for anyone to avoid getting spotted...unless they were a Sanghelli playing hide-and-seek with their cloak tech.

The ODST was always on the alert for the way the Hinge-Heads liked to sneak around, but he still hadn't detected any. It was one of the few blessings he had right now, though of course...having his squad at his back was the one he was after, but it seemed he'd have to put in his own legwork to make that happen.

_Lord's not making this easy..._

" Where are you, Gunny.. ", he muttered, glancing methodically from right to left.

They hadn't answered their comms, sure, but maybe there were others in range who could. The sky didn't all that glowing blue...static from the supercarrier's jump floating around in it. Maybe that had been blocking calls from longer range...and if the squad was _that_ badly scattered, then their own comms weren't reaching him either.

But if there was anyone else nearby-

_Wait a second.. _

Off toward the east...that was automatic gunfire.

Dutch stopped, then reoriented toward it, concentrating.

Yeah, it _definitely_ out there. That was about all he could get from the distant echoes , but that was definitely MA5 fire out there. And where there was MA5 fire..

_Plasma_. It wasn't as noisy, and tended to get drowned out, but that didn't matter. There was activity going on close enough to him- a full on firefight, no doubt.

" Any callsigns receiving...any callsigns receiving, this is Corporal Taylor Miles, ODST Squad Alpha-9. I've set down on the southwest side of Uplift Reserve. Respond if able, over. "

" Repeat: Any callisgns receiving...any callsigns receiving, this is Corporal Taylor Miles, ODST Squad Alpha-9. Respond if able, over. "

Now he _knew_ there were friendlies in the AO. Fresh adrenaline seeped into his blood, so he went on the comms again.

"...Hey ! Hey, Corporal Miles! Can you hear us ?! "

_What ?! Someone actually got that ?!_

A slightly breathless voice sounded in his earpiece, compounded by the always-present popping of radio clicking. Somewhere in the background, there was the whine and crash of plasma fire. Decently _heavy_ plasma fire to boot, not to mention the chattering of MA5 rifles.

Slotted in between the weapons discharges was the all the usual yelling and shouting, not to mention the cussing.

Dutch hadn't actually been pinning that much on getting a response, let alone so _quickly. _Granted, there were the drones that'd gone past before, and he'd suspected that there were UNSC forces in sector, but _successfully_ contacting them...

It was a surprise, sure, but a welcome one.

Blinking off the shock, Dutch nonetheless replied. " Roger that- I read you ! Who is this ? "

" Private Kivec ! Magma Company, 15th Battalion ! "

_Doesn't sound that shaken up...good, good._

_Canadian...I __think_

_" _ Ok, Private...what's your 20 ?! "

" We're...Hang on, Corporal- !"

" lieutenant ! _LT_, I got an ODST on the line ! "

_So, they got an officer who's still vertical, _Dutch noted. That could prove very helpful indeed...or an absolute disaster, depending on how competent he was. Judging from how at least some of his squad was still alive and fighting, though, perhaps he wasn't utterly useless.

_God, he'd better know what he's doing. For their sake. He owes them that much._

_" Say that again, _Private ! You said _an ODST_ ?! "

" Yes sir ! A Corporal Taylor Miles ! "

After another few seconds, and the giveaway muffling rustle of the receiver getting handed from one speaker to another, a new voice replaced Kivec's.

"Corporal Miles ! This Lt. Gorman. You read me ?! Confirm, over !"

" Affirmative, sir ! ", Dutch answered.

_Not _as _scared as I thought he'd be_...

" Reading you loud and clear, Lt. ! Over".

Emphasis on _loud_; the intensity of the Covenant and UNSC fire in the background had tapered off _minutely_, but there was still a steady stream of it going back and forth. The volume of the firefight was jackhammering to the ODST, even over the comms.

Either it was a real firestrom, or the Covies were within spitting distance of the officer.

" Are you mobile, Corporal ?! Can you still move ? Over ", said officer asked. He spoke with a moderately noticeable Southern accent...slightly Alabama.

Dutch hadn't been shot_-yet-_, so he responded that he certainly could still walk. Or run, if that's what was needed.

" Roger that, Lt. Combat effective. Over. "

" Good, good...now where's the rest of your squad ?! I was told you're alone ?! Over."

"...Roger that, sir. " If Dutch could've said otherwise, he would've. Once again, though, that supercarrier's completely crazed choice to perform an in-atmo slipspace jump had made sure that he couldn't.

_And we were headed_ right_ at her when she jumped..._

"Just crossed the perimeter of the Wildebest enclosure, sir. I can hear fire in the distance; guessing that's you and your boys- "

" GRENADE ! GET CLEAR ! "

Icewater entered Dutch's blood, and he automatically was about to dive for cover himself, before realizing the grande was nowhere nearby. A half second later, it didn't matter, because a crackling _boom _gave away that the plasma bomb had already gone off.

Dutch glanced up, half expecting to spot a blue-white flash.

Lt. Gorman kept communicating, though- even as the stinging echoes of the blast died away. " Affirmative, Corporal. That's us ! We're engaged with _several_ enemy squads, Brutes in command, over !"

_Jiralhanae. Today is getting better and better..._

" Brutes !? Sir, I have an fully charged M6 Laser; I can be at your position in less than 5 minutes ! Over. "

" Are you bullshitting me, Corporal ?! Over."

" No, sir ! I'll _be_ there. ", promised the ODST. Gunnery Sergeant Buck always delivered on his promises to get his objectives done, and he'd succeeded in imprinting that into all of his men-even Mickey. If Dutch was going to say he was going to reach them, come what may, he _would._

" Then I'll see you here by then-God help us both otherwise ! Out. "

The link was severed on that end then, and Dutch finally removed his fingertips from the side of his helmet.

Well, if that the Lieutenant could keep his head right after a plasma grenade had detonated so close to him, and that he was slugging it out against a gang of Jiralhane ( and the bunch of lackeys they always had with them ), let lone surviving, was enough to raise Dutch's opinion of the officer a touch more. On top of how God must've not wanted him and his unit to die quite yet, this Lt. Gorman obviously had_ some_ level of competence of his own.

But, knowing for sure would have to wait, till Dutch actually got there. And from the sounds of what had been going on over there, he was already on the clock.

As if he didn't have reasons to keep moving before, of course. Now he had even more.

_Hang on, boys. All you got to do, is _hang on

Taking his M7S firmly in both hands, Dutch turned the weapon over enough to double check that the safety had been disengaged, and found that it was. His MUD showed its magazine was full as well, with all 60 rounds . He realized he'd already begun jogging, at nearly a run, toward Magma Company's location, by when he began to check on his supply of grenades.

Sure enough, the 3 M9s he'd packed were still there. Reaching down and flipping open the pouches, Dutch counted all of them still where he'd left them.

_Excellent...still got the pineapples._

All his gear was in order, and he had a mission to complete.

Driven as such, Dutch pressed on.

* * *

_" Rawwwwwwwgh ! "_

That was either a very angry Brute, or one that had just been shot. Or a very angry one that had just been shot.

Dutch had fought and killed more of them than he could count, but it was still hard to be sure what kind of primal roaring that was...not that it mattered that much in the end. All that wounded-bull bellowing simply gave away the alien's position, leading Dutch right to him.

Not that he was having a hard time of that at the moment; advancing at a crouch-run, Dutch rushed up to one of the trees that'd formed a line at the edge of the next open plain ahead, pressing his shoulder against it and raising his M7S. Sighting down its red holo-sight, he had a clear line of view right into the enemy's flank.

Said enemy was exactly as Lt. Gorman had said; about a dozen+ Covenant, over to the left of his position. The bulk of them were the stumpy Grunts, but sure enough...the hulking frames of multiple Brutes were clearly here and now.

_No way you lardy bastards could hide even if you wanted..._

The Brutes were doing exactly that: the exacy opposite of hiding, and instead firing volley after volley of Spiker rounds over the head of their shrieking Grunt forces. Following the outgoing spikes, Dutch finally got a visual on Magma Company.

A long, low crest of ground ran from the base of a jagged-topped mound of rocks directly across from Dutch, and behind that crest, he could observe the red-orange flashes of UNSC firearms. Green camo clad figures popped up from over it, ducking back down only to come up again seconds later.

_Gotcha. In one way, sure.._

It was then that the ODST brought up his M6 Laser, and began to draw a bead on the closest Jiralhane.

Squeezing the trigger, he listened as the weapon began spooling up. A low-pitch digital whine rapidly began getting louder, turning into that beautiful, constant piercing tone.

Staring down the sights, Dutch did his best to keep the targeting reticle centered on where he wanted the laser to impact.

He'd come ready for _this_ fight. The bulky weapon had been dragged off this back about halfway here, and now sat comfortably on his shoulder. Heavy, yes, but that was fine. After all, it wasn't like you could fit this kind of stopping power into anything less than an _M6, _and to bring down a Brute fast and hard, you'd sure as heck need every bit of it.

_God, steady my hand. may my aim be true._

_"_Lt. Gorman ?! This is Corporal Miles ! I have a visual on your hostiles; engaging now ! Over. "

The transmission was barely over before the laser went off.

A searing orange glow briefly obscured the center of the ODST's visor.

Dutch had been aiming for the nearest Brute, and a fraction of a second after the laser discharged, he was rewarded with the sweet sight of a hit. Blood red energy melted clean through the base of the Brute's head, accompanied at that exact same moment by-

\- well, there wasn't _that_ much blood. Energy weapons did have that tendency to cauterize wounds immediately. Still, it made for a good spectacle of the Brute's head getting severed completely, and then bouncing away while the recently detached body collapsed like a lamppost knocked over by a drunk driver.

_Magnificent. _One corner of Dutch's mouth tugged itself upwards.

Amazingly, the Grunts didn't even seem to realize one of their bosses was dead! Well, for the first second or so, anyway. Eventually, one of them did, and the usual chain reaction of panicked shrieking and aimless running all over the place began.

" Woah ! Jesus, Corporal, that was some good shooting ! "

Already in the process of swinging the hefty laser back over his shoulders, Dutch didn't answer. The shot had been _plenty_ of a signal that he'd arrived, and besides: the Brute hadn't been alone..

" **Reeagh** !? "

" Aiiiiiiiea ! "

Overlapping howling and wailing erupted as the remaining Covenant spun around to where the laser had come from- or when it came to all the Grunts, just spinning.

The Brutes were more put together, though, and they immediately began directing streams of Spiker rounds onto where Dutch had hidden himself. Searing spikes shredded chunks off the tree's trunk, and even through the layers of his CQB helmet, Dutch could detect the_ **whup-whup-whup-whup**_ of them going past.

One of them _may_ have grazed his left shoulder pauldron, but as Dutch clamped the M6 away, and began to bring the M7S to bear, he wasn't sure. More importantly, he didn't care. Either he wasn't hit at all, or he_ had_ been, but the pain wasn't setting in yet. If the latter was true, then he'd make good use of how long it'd take to actually do so.

Which was exactly what he did, by lining up a shot with the M7S, and mowing down a few of the Grunts with quick applications of fire each. As they collapsed and died, the ever-incoming MA5 fire from the crest of ground began to converge on the remaining Brutes.

MA5s were not the most accurate at range, and not as good as the BR55 at breaching shields, but put enough of them on the same target, and they could get things done. Dutch was leveling his weapon on one of them when the burly alien's personal energy barrier disintegrated.

_Well_ done_, gentlemen !_

Staggering, the shield-less Brute soon recovered, and then promptly went full on berserk. The giant alien rushed Magma Company, though Dutch now found he had to split his attention between the apes; either shoot the one who'd gone crazy, or the one who was now ( again ) taking aim at him with a Spiker.

Dutch went to ground, hugging it. Propping himself on one elbow, he ignored the newest salvo of spikes, and shot at the back of the charging Brute. Spurts of blood marked hits, along with more from Magma on the legs and chest.

It was more than the Brute could handle, and with gasping growl, the creature toppled mug-first into the ground, bleeding from skull to ankles.

_Gotcha. _Now Dutch was free to handle the last Brute...

He rolled fully behind the tree ( or, _maybe_ it was another one...hard to be certain ), checking his ammo count. The M7S was down to less than half, and with at least one Brute still in play, he'd need more.

Dutch's attention stayed focused ahead, as his hands went through the full reload process. Finishing it after several seconds, he hit the M7's charging action, then emerged from behind the tree-

\- in time to spot something burning orange-white, with a long trail of smoke stretching out behind it, about a yard away from hitting the last Brute.

_Jackhammer rockets ?! __Christ-!_

**_BWOOM !_**

Again, Dutch pressed himself low as he could, as the rocket struck the Brute center mass , blasting the alien to smithereens in a roiling explosion.

The ground shuddered beneath Dutch, armor or not.

When Dutch lifted his head, he saw that there was simply nothing left. Other, of course, than the towering plume of powdery tan-colored dust and ashy smoke that stood over where the alien _had_ been. It seemed as if the Brute had just...evaporated.

_Now _that's _a KIA_

_Don't care if you're 8ft tall and several hundred pounds...if you get tagged by a Jackhammer rocket to your gut, you're dead_

Even better, as the ODST continued to look out over the area in front of him, he couldn't spot any more Grunts still standing. The ones he hadn't gunned down had gotten caught in the Jackhammer's detonation, and there was simply _no_ living through that.

. Yep- Brutes and Grunts alike... they were all dead as well. Each and _every_ Covenant in the immediate vicinity was dead and taken out.

_Beautiful...we've cleaned house._

_Area secure._

Dutch pushed himself up from the dirt, and then stood. He didn't not notice that his own pulse was shooting along at above resting rate ( and had been for a while ), and that he could definitely use a drink...maybe get rid of that parchment-esque layering in the back of his throat.

Glancing over at the spot on his shoulder, Dutch noticed a gouged out dent in the plating, clear proof of a Spiker rifle grazing hit. The metal was slightly warped, and scorched white from the heat.

_Huh...they actually got close with that one._He'd been actually wounded before, but not ever by a _Spiker_ round. Evidently, the good Lord decided today wasn't that day.

" Corporal ?! You still alive over there ? Over. "

But, that would have to wait. He'd borderline run all the way here, _and _ gone head to head with a bunch of Brutes, all to RV with Magma Company, so _that_ was next on the agenda. Slaking thirst could wait a few minutes.

Activating his radio, he responded to the Lt. : " Yes sir...still up, and still in fighting shape. Over. "

" You're ok, and you still got ammo for your Laser ? Over. "

" Affirmative to both of those, over. "

Dutch began to walk forward, descending the slight slope that led down to the opened up area where the firefight had been raging seconds earlier. He had to sidestep a holed Grunt, along with all the spilled cyan blood, as well as that separated Brute head, lying on one side.

_I hope it hurt, bastard_

_" _Approaching your position now, sir. You should have a visual on me. "

" I already do, Corporal. Coming up as we speak. "

Continuing on, Dutch watched as uniformed individuals began to appear over the top of the crest. The nearer he got, the more of them Dutch realized there were- about a dozen, give or take. One of them had the dual tubes of a Jackhammer rocket launcher sticking up from over the shoulders-the ODST made a note to say thanks to the heavy weapons operator for having good aim back there.

One of them, cradling an MA5C, had pulled ahead of the others, joined by one other, also carrying the Corp's standard issue rifle and who aslo had the whip-tin stick of a comms antenna , who followed a few steps behind

It was obvious enough that the one at the front had to be Lt. Gorman, or at least it was a reasonable guess.

_So, _this_ is him, then. _Dutch automatically sized the officer up as he drew near.

The Lieutenant didn't have any obvious rank insignia, being an officer in a combat zone, but the Marine standing on his left did- those of a Private- so the process of elimination solved the rest. His BDU and armor were about as dirty as Dutch thought it would, with patches of grime and dust bordered by cleaner ones. As for any visible wounds and injuries...there didn't seem to be any on him. No bandages or bleeding gashes, but once again, the nearby Marine had something the officer didn't: a series of lightly bleeding nicks on the left cheek, surrounded by layers of dust.

_Did he take that hit for you, sir ? You'd better not have outright hid...but I don't think so_

_And..a Private ? Is that Kivec ?!_

All his initial assessments stayed under the hat so to speak, of course, as Dutch stopped in front of them. There was always the reflex urge to salute, but he suppressed it, and simply stood straight, as the Lt. finally spoke com-less right to him.

" Corporal Miles. I am Lt. Gorman-"

He indicated the Private standing attentively next to him, MA5 aimed at the ground.

" And this is Private Kivec. On behalf all my Marines and myself, that was i_mpeccable_ timing. "

" No problem, sir. ". That last phrase could so easily have been sarcastic, but Dutch was an ODST; recognizing it was more than easy. Besides, even if it had been, you'd need more than that to be insulting...somewhat.

" Sure it wasn't, not for an ODST. ", the officer declared. " You're a Godsend, Corporal. "

" You might say that, sir. Right place, right chance. "

Dutch's next question was the one he knew the officer might not be the most eager to answer, but he had to get to it sooner before that became later. " How many casualties, sir ? "

He watched for hints of how severe it'd been in the Lt's expression, but they and the actual response were both the same

" But, tell me that this is wrong: You figured out how to recharge one of those Lasers in the field? I only saw one beam go out, so I'd say you have 4 more shots ? "

"...Roger that, sir. 4 more, and then she's dry. "

Not for the first time, Dutch really wished there was a solution for the issue of the M6's power source not being able to be refilled without those prohibitively cumbersome generators. The Jackhammer Launcher didn't have that issue, even though it was practically antiquated by comparison.

Speaking of Jackhammers, though-

" Sir, what about your rockets ? You low on those ? "

The answer he got wasn't encouraging. " That shot back there ? We were literally down to our last 2 rockets...now only 1. Corporal Jao is hungry for more, but I haven't found any to give her. "

_Corporal Jao. The rocketeer._ Dutch made another mental note.

" Got it...well, I'll help keep an eye out for any. That was some serious demolitions skill. "

" You're preaching to the choir, but you'll get no complains on that from me. "

He turned away, back toward the crest, while beckoning Dutch to go the same way.

" Even better: you can thank her yourself. Now that you're here, I have to re-org the unit before we begin our main push to get back on track to our objective. "

" _Your_ objective, sir ?", Dutch asked. " Interrogative: What is it ? "

The Lt. paused, and looked back at him. " Trust me, Corporal: You''ll find out in a moment. "

"Now come on, both of you. "

Lt. Gorman strode off, leaving the private and the corporal without much option but to go along with him.

It was the corporal that had the fresh impression that the officer had actually done something toward earning his stripes. Dutch had run into plenty of different kinds of officers who were all kinds of incompetent, or downright useless in how they conducted their commands, let alone the ones who _were_ actually good at it. Having now met and spoken with the Lieutenant, Dutch decided that, up till _now,_ he couldn't justifiably call him one of the ones who was leading his command into a deathtrap out of ineptitude.

Granted, promising to reveal important information at a later date was getting dangerously close to ONI-tactics, but then again...he wasn't ONI.

_Why do I think so ? Because these Marines are alive...and they haven't been scattered all over the place like dough dust in an Italian pizzeria, that's why. Doing otherwise would be confirmation enough that he was a spook._

Dutch's mental evaluation of the Lieutenant was interrupted then by Private Kivec speaking up.

" Hey,Corporal..got a second ? "

Looking right as he walked, Dutch depolarized his visor, and nodded affirmatively.

" Sure, go ahead. ". The private had managed to keep it together on the comms, and that level of control was still with him now. It seemed that Lt. Gorman wasn't the only one in the unit that Dutch had judged to be up to a worthy standard. Yes, he wasn't much more than a rookie, but not everyone who didn't have 15 years on the job wasn't made of sterner stuff.

" Thanks, ok..."

A second or so went by, then-

" What happened with the rest of your combat team ? Are they KIA ? "

His bluntness about _Alpha-9_ getting _100% annihilated_ should've been upsetting. Actually, it was, and another flash of anger burst to flood through Dutch all over again.

_What the-?! What'd he say ?_

But, nearly as quick as it came..it was gone. The rational section of the ODST's mind caught on that Kivec was curious, nothing more. An actual offense, this wasn't.

_Wouldn't go unanswered if it was, that's for absolute certain.._

If Kivec had realized the ODST had been momentarily molten lava, he didn't say anything, so Dutch went on with answering him. " Can't say for sure, Private, but I don't believe they are. Till I find out for _sure_ what's happened with them, they're not dead. Not to me. "

" You think they're in the park somewhere ? " Kivec glanced around him, scanning the landscape.

" God willing, yes. But you'd better get this in your head, kid". Dutch told him.

" If they're in this city _anywhere_, then I don't leave until they do. "


	9. 100 or more

Uplift Reserve

New Mombasa, Kenya

Earth

* * *

" Let's go, let's **go** !", bellowed Lt. Gorman. " Mount up ! "

No sooner had he spoken the command, than the assembled Marines- all 12 of them- sprang into action. Already standing, they moved with obvious purpose and quickness toward the the line of parked M12's, with their BR55s and MA5s either slung off their backs, or gripped firmly in their gloved hands.

Watching them, Corporal Taylor " Dutch " Miles had to admit: he was impressed For one thing, with how the young officer actually seemed to have a decent level of command chops- Dutch had served under enough officers to be able to spot from pretty early on if they were putting on an act of competence, or if they were _real_ about it.

From what he'd seen up till now from Lt. Gorman, the kid was no pretender. " Glass vase " officers were easy to spot, but this one didn't have those dreaded traits.

Seconds ago, he'd finished conducting a soundly put together field briefing, scratching his plans into the dusty and grainy topsoil with the tip of a combat knife, while the unit looked on. As plans that someone could come up with while a battle was still ongoing, it certainly wasn't the worst on record- mostly because, like all plans that have any realistic chance at success, it was a simple one.

_" I'll be crystal damn clear on this; we can't afford to move slow. This entire grid is a hotbed of Covenant activity, including the exact coordinates of our RV point with the command element. They're waiting on us, and they're counting on us. So, we're going to follow the plan, and _get_ ourselves there, come what may ! "_

In short, Lt. Gorman would take all of the unit's remaining M12 Warthogs- all armed with M41 chainguns, gathered and hidden here in this tightly packed grove of trees- and use them to form a flying column. Just like MacArthur had done at Manila, they'd stay on the move as much as possible, rolling through the park at full speed while putting maximum firepower on every hostile that was either_ in_ their way, or close enough. Running them down and over was _always_ an option, but they'd avoid ramming the Brutes as much as they could- the apes tended to get stuck in the grills, or worse, outright rock one of the M12's up on two wheels. Smashing down Grunts and Jackals was easy enough, but slamming into a couple-hundred-pound Brute was a major ( and slightly messy ) speed bump to handle, even for an M12.

_" Zulu 1, 2, 3 and 4 ", he' designated the vehicles they'd be taking. " Column formation only when need be, otherwise we're going to be a line of damn ducks. Best way to avoid taking plasma hits is to stay _on the move_, and avoid staying tight-. "_

_" That means _you_, Mosse ! ", The Lt. jabbed a finger at as especially tall __Leatherneck, standing roughly in the center of the formation. " Stay on the damn road this time, copy ?! "_

_" _If_ I actually crash, boss, it'll be the Covies' fault. You can count on that ", the accused bad driver responded._

_It sounded like a promise, not a boast. Then again, D__utch had heard stories, back on Reach, about a Spartan who was _legendarily_ bad at behind the wheel. He wasn't fully ( or even mostly ) convinced there was any stock in them, though; after all, how could a _Spartan _be so bad at something so fundamental as driving ?_

_Anyway, however bad this guy was, if he was anywhere _near_ what that one Spartan had been, he wouldn't even be here anyway._

_ " You'd damn well better. "_

As plans went, the one they'd be following was decently straightforward. Plans, in general, tended to derail as soon as you encountered the enemy, but then again, not having them at all was even worse than that. As someone who's livelihood revolved around assembling plans ( which often had to be hastily modified once the aforementioned enemy opened up on them )

The unit had paid rapt attention, staring at the crudely drawn lines and shapes in the ground, and then back at the officer drawing them as he spelled out what they were going to do. Once or twice, someone called out a question, or some kind of clarification, but nobody _outright_ expressed that they didn't have confidence in the plan...which either said they didn't _have_ any objections, or none that were severe enough to be worth saying out loud.

Dutch didn't entirely believe that last one, though, mostly because of the other " thing " that held his respect here:

These Marines were _holding together. _They were still a _unit,_ that was cetain.

Sure, they were mostly filthy and clearly had been through some heavy action recently; virtually every one of them was spattered and coated with dust and grime, from helmets to boots. Every _other_ one, roughly, had that certain look on them that said they would've have minded taking a long nap on something soft and warm, and maybe something warm to eat. It was the kind of wanting a rest that came after slugging it out against heavy Brute presence for...well, Dutch estimated the last few hours, at most.

But, Dutch knew what demoralization was, and it wasn't here. He'd watched them fight, and they hadn't been sloppy. Exhausted and shattered Marines didn't perform _that_ well; they tended to move lethargically and stiffly, like sleepwalkers...like he'd seen on Reach. Magma Company, on the other hand, still had their fighting spirit, and for that, Dutch was proud of them already.

As a duo of of them ran past him, the ODST immediately looked for, and then spotted, that one of them that was lugging a Jackhammer.

This had to be Corporal Jao, who'd blown up the Covenant with a rocket shot during the firefight back at the crest. She had been standing nearby to him during the briefing, but with everybody listening attentively to Lt. Gorman, there was no time for chatting.

Somewhere in her early 20's, she had a cute , rounded face, with a noticeable scar on the left side of her chin that was more decorative than marring, and had a plasma handgun clipped to her utility belt, along with several plasma grenades.

_" Hey ! _Jao ! ", he called out.

" Corporal Jao ! "

Stopping short, both leathernecks turned their heads .

Lifting a hand, Dutch beckoned the one with the rocket over. Realizing he wanted to speak with her, she gestured at her compatriot to keep going, before swerving around to head Dutch's way.

As soon as she'd arrived, the young AT operator was the first to speak up. " Need something, Trooper ?"

_Still can't place her accent: Philippines ? Eh, maybe Vietnam..._

" Actually, yeah- ".

The ODST extended his right hand, clenched tight in a fist. " Corporal Taylor Miles. That was _damn_ good rocket placement back there. I wanted you to know that from me. "

" We're blessed to have you. "

Jao blinked with surprise, and stared at the outstretched glove for a second or so. Dutch wondered if, perhaps, he'd misread her.

Soon enough, though, he found that he was right, when the other corporal reached out with her own closed fingers, and firmly thumped knuckles with the Helljumper.

" Anytime. As long as I got ammo...I'll keep it going all day long. "

" I believe you would.", Dutch told her, going with the honest truth. " I'll find you some more rockets, ok ? "

Jao was quick to express reception of the idea, nodding briskly. " Better than _ok_\- that'd be f***ing awesome. "

Behind his helmet's visor, Dutch's mouth tugged up at touch at the corner- and he knew why.

He'd been right about her after all, then. Jao was definitely committed to using all the drive she had- and it seemed that was more than a few lingering drops. Her determination was real, and it was serving her well. Already, Dutch had a strong sense of confidence that she would've made a fine ODST herself.

Perhaps that would still be on the table...after all this was over. The ODST decided he keep her name in his mental files...just in case. Based of everything he'd seen up till now, she seemed Of course, if she _did_ get RTU'd ( God forbid )..there were _absolutely_ worse units to sent back to other than Magma Company.

_Hm. Knew there was a reason I liked you._

" Good stuff. Allright, then- you heard the Lt- "

He gestured with his head at where the M12's were waiting. ".Move your ass. Get up on there. "

" Roger that. Catch you on the bounce, Trooper, yeah? "

" Lord keep you safe, Jarhead.

Clapping a hand on the ODST's shoulder pauldron, Jao turned away, and set off back for the 4x4s, with the long and bulky Jackhammer still looking a tad juxtaposed against her slender frame.

Dutch spared a second to watch her leave, and about as quick as he realized he couldn't afford to- he and his new ( temporary ) unit all had a mission to get to. The Covenant were still in town, after all.

_Yeah...take care, Jao._

_We all know where we need to be here, and that includes me._

On that front, Dutch turned left, and headed up through the grove.

Ahead and on his right, the Marines of Magma were scrambling aboard their vehicles, going 3 by 3 aboard the 4 M12s. Drivers were settling into their seats, switching on the engines and checking the controls, while the gunners hauled and climbed their way up onto the 4x4's rears to get ahold of the firing grips of the M41 rotary cannons. Last but not least, those riding shotgun filled out the complement, bracing themselves against the dashboard to aim their weapons out the righthand side.

Dutch wasn't a_ terrible_ driver, but he was ( not by his _own_ admission ) a better shot. If given a choice, he'd have chosen to man one of the M41's, except-

-well, that was exactly it. He didn't much have one, because the Lt. had already given him his orders.

" Corporal Miles ! "

_Speaking of which..._

The officer in question was a step ahead of him- literally. Lt. Gorman already had a position in the convoy- right at the very front.

That he'd put himself _there_ wasn't something he'd have done if he was a coward, or at least concerned at being perceived as one. On some level, Dutch knew he knew the risks of being at the head rather than the middle or the tail...except there was also the possibility that the enemy would expect the UNSC's command stricture to be in the middle ( because it was, technically, " safer " ), and so they would aim there first.

Faking out the ( potential, hopefully ) ambush, so to speak.

Dutch still wasn't fully at ease with that component of the plan, but he knew the alternative had plenty of risk. Besides, at least at the front, he could adjust their course, and the overall plan, quickly enough not to be too late.

_Well, too often, Lieutenants are either seen as clueless screw-ups, or they actually _are. _But, I don't think this one is._

" Lieutenant . ", Dutch responded, as he reached the officer's M12.

" Right on time, Corporal. We've got an objective to secure, and you're going to get us there. Isn't that right ? "

_Not just _any_ objective though...damn it._

_God...not another from _them _again._

Yes...Dutch had quite literally jumped from the frying pan, and into the bonfire, because as it turned out-

-ONI was pulling strings here as well. According to Gorman, they wanted a " Tier 1 Asset " ( whatever _that_ was ) that was ( allegedly, as this was ONI ) deeper within the Reserve, and had ordered it to be secured at the_ earliest_ opportunity. What it was, they ( obviously ) hadn't bothered to let slip, but what they _had_ revealed, was it was at the former LZ of the Covie carrier that had wrecked so much with that slipspace jump.

That was about the long and short of it: They wanted a full secure of that area- ASAP. _Immediately, _and at once.

_Typical_ ONI, to a T: Everything done yesterday, and don't ask any questions- because that was surefire way to get yourself demoted, dishonorably discharged...or worse. That Lt. Gorman had only revealed as much as he had was all the proof anyone could need that was all he knew. Which, therefore, was all Dutch and the rest of the rank and file Marines knew.

It all boiled down to how they were risking it all for ONI..._again. _ The spymasters. Spooks.

Dutch had to fight to keep that resentment from leaking out as he acknowledged what he was about to do for them to Gorman, but somehow , he managed. If he hadn't had so much experience in getting screwed over by them, and then coping with it afterwards, well...thankfully, he didn't have to worry about that.

" Yes, sir ! "

Pushing the black ( but well earned ) emotions toward Naval Intelligence into the back of his head, Dutch minutely shook his head, and made himself get back into the zone, grinding down that nagging distractions until they were dulled and trapped...at least for now.

God knew he wouldn't be changing his stance on ONI, but he had other priories to deal with.

He'd already noticed that, besides the Lt, the 3rd Marine on this M12 was none other than Private Kivec. The Canadian ( aside from his accent, Dutch had seen another giveway: a tattoo of a Maple Leap flag on his neck ) was serving as the Warthog's gunner, and was already perched on the control station for the mounted .50cal weapon, doing a final check on its action.

_All by the numbers, kid._

_Well, mostly. Don't forget; sometimes, you gotta improvise _

Aside from Jao and Gorman, Kivec was the only other member of the unit Dutch had gotten a deeper read on. As rookies went, the Canadian was a good change of pace from the worst kind of nervous rookie...the kind who always quoted reg at every turn. Kivec was by no means a career vet- a private was still a private at the end of the day, as well as at the beginning- but he seemed to have the foundation of someone who _could_ get himself there, someday.

It was always the earliest stages of someone's career, where things went wrong in the worst way- or very late. In that way, Dutch was on one end of it, and Kivec on the other. Dutch had been around the block a few times, and been around the galaxy on more combat deployments and Ops than he could count, on about as many worlds. Kivec, though, didn't looked like he'd ever left Earth. Heck, most of Magma didn't look like they had either, though it was impossible to be sure.

If that was true, then Dutch had already decided that he was going to get them through this, as best he could. Not just so they _could_ get that experience, but because it was the least he could do.

_I hope he gets that chance...I truly do. _

_God give me the strength to protect them, and for more than only that_

Meanwhile, the ODST had been taking his own spot on the M12, swinging and lifting himself up the 36 inches from the ground to the running board, and into the driver's seat. Across from him, Lt. Gorman was already sitting down in the shotgun spot, as Dutch began to secure the driver's side crash harness.

" Hey...Corporal ! "

" This is your_ last_ chance to come clean about how good you are behind the wheel. And any other shit you think needs disclosing".

Dutch glanced right at the officer, who now had his BR55 un-slung and held at the ready in both hands, a thumb resting by the selector switch.

Something was..different about his tone now, as well as his expression Overall, he was still confident, decisive, and resolute , but there was something else. Dutch could've sworn the Lt. was tacitly looking to find out if the ODST had been lying through his teeth.

_Ok...can't say I didn't expect this. Not thrilled about it, but here it is. Better now than when the plasma is in the air_

_Least he's not taking a jab at my combat skills. He already got a front row seat to watch those. Got to realize ODSTs don't come subpar._

_" _ Give me 10 more minutes against them ", Dutch told him. " That'll tell you everything you need to know. "

Lt. Gorman looked at him another second. " 10 more, huh ? 10 more of how hard you were hitting them back at the ridge ? "

" Either that, or plenty more. And that's a promise. "

The ODST slipped some additional steel into his voice. As much as he respected the Lieutenant, there was no way he'd let him think that any Shock Trooper was anything less than 100 percent, and fully worth his salt. It was even more vital that every ODST keep that up, ever since the Spartan 2's had cropped up, upstaging everyone at every opportunity they got- or made.

_We got a rep to uphold, no matter what it takes_

The Lt. turned back to face ahead, raising his rifle to line it up out the side.

" Too late to find out any other way, Corporal ". He remarked. " But I've got enough to go on for the get go, anyway. We'll see if you live up to it..."

" Now, let's get rolling. "

* * *

"_ Wraiths !_ "

Kivec's shout was fighting to be heard over the growling whine of the M12's engine, but Dutch still caught it.

" Copy that, Private ! ".

He jinked the wheel right, steering the 4x4 around the gentle curve of the downward slope they were careening down. A quick glance at the speedometer confirmed that...yes they were still going at around 60+ mph, give or take.

The terrain ahead was a sharp change from the heavily wooded and winding road they'd been following; it was wide open, similar to where Dutch had run across Magma Company, with rolling swells in the ground dotted with boulders, and covered in tall grass. A handful of tree clumps were scattered around-

-along with, yeah...several Wraiths.

The bulbous purple mortar tanks weren't engaging the M12's yet, even as they came shooting out onto the plain with rooster tails of dust spewing up high from behind their rear wheels. Mostly because they were busy spitting their white hot plasma salvos at something downrange, off to the right of Dutch's plane of view.

On the left...yes, there were the backup forces that always accompanied every Wraith unit. Several squads worth of Grunts and Jackals were scurrying ( well, in the Grunts' case, they were ) alongside the lumbering mortar tanks as they advanced, providing screening duty.

_What the heck are they shooting at ? Covies don't bring out that kind of firepower- ?_

" _Corporal_ ! ", Gorman roared. " Swing...left ! Keep your speed up ! "

Multitasking was an old ODST core skill, and Dutch was engaging it in full now. One eye looked right, flicking to watch where the plasma was impacting to see if there was even a flash of return fire. The other watched the " road " ahead, which had been more of a rough path intended to be traversed more by the Reserve's animals than wheeled traffic.

" Got it, sir ! "

Way _ahead of you, by a country mile. _Dutch had already spotted what he'd been looking for- muzzle flashes from amid one of the boulder clusters. On top of that, in addition to the Grunts and Jackals closest to him, there was at least several more squads of them ambling along in flanking positions on the opposite side, with the Beak-noses doing their thing again of peppering the Wraith's targets with long range probing shots.

_Gotta be more Jarheads there..._

_Keep your heads down !_

" All units- maintain left ! Go, go, go ! ", Gorman directed the column. The Wraith-led formation, amazingly, hadn't spotted them yet.

They were still roughly a football field away from the flank of the action, but at these speeds, that was narrowing _quickly. _They'b be inside of rifle range inside of the next 30 seconds, but needless to say, the M41s could already reach out with their heavier .50 slugs.

Already, Dutch wished he was posted up in the shotgun seat with his Laser...but he was down to only 4 shots with it. He'd only dropped with the thing to begin with because he'd been expecting to zap some vital systems on the inside of that Covie carrier-violently applied sabotage. With _that_ whole plan utterly shot to ribbons, though, he was still stuck with it, and as powerful as it was, the lack of any more than 5 shots was more than a slight problem...

That, and there was that pesky time delay between trigger pull and firing...engineers hadn't figured out a way around that... _yet_.

There wasn't any other option than being highly judicious with when and how you choose to use it, but the ODST knew he'd find some high priority targets that needed lazing. Sooner or later...

_And Wraiths don't count ? Sure- but there's 3 of 'em..._

Nonetheless, Dutch was the zone again, jinking left as they reached more level ground. His left glove was clamped like a hydraulic vise on the wheel, while his right worked the handbrake as he slewed the vehicle around, gravel and dirt crunching loudly under the wheels.

The ODST was bouncing like a popcorn kernel, only held down by his restraints. Still, he kept the M12 on course, and stayed left as his 4X4 continued rounding the Covenant's flank, getting closer to that sweet and vital 6:00.

Another few seconds...and they'd be perfectly set up to shoot them in the backside. For vehicles with the kind of extensive armor protection that Wraiths had, it'd always been pretty hilarious to Dutch how easy it was to slay a Wraith, just as long as you aimed for _that_ one chink in their defenses. It was like a kick to the balls- a good hit to a weak spot that absolutely _wrecked_ the whole thing.

" Light 'em up, Private ! ", commanded Gorman.

" All units-engage ! "

The gunner opened up right away, and a stream of white-orange tracers instantly reached out to paint the Covenant forces. It was joined milliseconds later by additional cones of fire from the other M12s, toppling Jackals and plucking Grunts like weeds.

Covie infantry died easily enough, and even the hovering mounds of armor that were Wraiths weren't immune to M41 fire... but-

_In the rear...got to get on their 6...!_

But, having already lost roughly a dozen to the concentrated barrages of machine gun fire, the Covenant now realized their flank was under threat. Two of the Wraiths began to pivot, spinning around on their repulsorlifts to bring their mortars to bear.

_Damn it, if only Jao had more rockets...!_

Adrenaline was surging through Dutch'd blood, anticipating the first of the plasma rounds landing on his 20. But, right around then, the first of the Wraiths suddenly exploded- focused M41 fire punching through the rear cooling vent opening.

_**Right** up your tailpipe !_

" Got him ". Kivec had taken the tank down. " _Got him !_ ".

The Wraith's running lights winked out as it instantly lost power, and after a few seconds of skidding helplessly off to one side, it exploded like a giant frag grenade.

Things didn't get much better for the rest of the Covenant. It was only now that they realized they'd been flanked, and although they were already reacting quickly, Magma Company already had them bent over barrel. .50 cal rounds began tearing into the Jackals and Grunts, whacking the taller aliens, and plucking the latter off their stumpy feet like so many flowers.

More concentrated fire went into the exhaust port of the 2nd Wraith, but its driver wasn't as slow on the draw as the first, and the mortar tank soon adjusted its position, spinning around to put its angled frontal plates toward the attack. About as fast, the Brute working the vehicles' plasma machine gun turret opened up, stitching everything downrange with energy rounds.

_Damn- this one's not as dumb as he looks ! _If the Wraith driver could dance this well, then they only had a-

" _The hatch, Private, the hatch ! ", _ the Lt. was urging.

" On it ! "

Tracers were still pelting the Covenant, as the rest of the M12s continued flowing around the edge of the aliens. The Grunts were doing what they did better than anyone- panicking and losing their cool, while the Jackals weren't much more than stand-up range targets, even with their carbines's drilling pellets pockmarking the side plating of any M12 they actually managed to hit.

" Gunner's dead ! He's dead-give me a second to finish it off ! ".

Kivec was doing good; he'd killed the Wraith's gunner, and his tracers began converging on the frontal hatch-

-and then the mortar tank spun to its right.

" Shit- Corporal ! I'm losing my LOS ! ", the M12's gunner warned.

" I know...keep shooting ! I'll get us on his 6 ! "

_Easier said than done...just got to **get** it done._

Dutch torqued the wheel, steering them on another flanking course. Annoyingly, though, the Wraith refused to let them get away with that so easily, as it pivoted sharply, with repulsorlifts flaring, to keep its frontal plate pointed where it needed to be.

_You need backup, buddy._ However skilled at tactical tap-dancing the Wraith was, Dutch was watching its supporting lance getting decimated left and right. Sheets of gunfire from the rest of the M12's were slicing through the rest of the Covenant, and the Wraith didn't have long before it'd be completely on its own.

Besides, without a gunner, there wasn't much point to spinning because the hatch was still in the M41's crosshairs, and with all the sparks coming off it, there was no way it could last much longer.

Realizing things were about to go pear-shaped, the Wraith driver made the signature move of any Wraith driver anywhere-

" He's attempting to ram-! "

_Crafty _

**_Boooom !_**

A roiling detonation interrupted Gorman right then- the other M12's had polished off the Wraith, having slipped in on its 6:00, and given it the same affectionate treatment as they'd given the first. A dose of heavy MG fire to the rear always got results; namely, a ball of brilliant cyan blue-white fire ,blossoming up and out .

The Wraith's purple running lights dimmed, and its repulsors shut down, dropping the bulky wreckage onto the dirt.

_Magnificent !_

Watching Wraiths blow up could bright up any day, and recent blast did that again for Dutch. One corner of his mouth- the right, as usual- tugged up in a satisfied smirk.

" Hell yeah ! ", Kivec celebrated. " You see that ?! You see that ?! "

" I did, Private ", Gorman acknowledged, sounding rather pleased himself.

" Tango Uniform. ", he called out, on the unit's radio freq. " All hostile armor, eliminated ! "

" We got 'em everyone...we got 'em. "

* * *

True to Gorman's plan, " The Flying Pack " ( as Dutch had begun to think of calling the collection of M12s ), didn't stop. They didn't even slow down.

Instead, they throttled up, spending only as long in the area as it took to get fully reformed into a cohesive body again. Scattered helter-skelter across the ground, dead Jackals and Grunts were rolled over more than a few times under the thickened tires of the M12s, causing the 4X4s to bump and buck slightly as they ran them over.

_Don't bother getting up._ Dutch didn't outright aim for the bodies, but he hardly made an effort to avoid them.

_After what you did at Tribute, this is the least you deserve. God will be merciful to you; more than _I_ can say_

Plasma handguns and Carbines littered the area, but there wasn't time to stop to loot them; they still had a lot more distance to cover, especially in a giant expanse like the Uplift Reserve. If Dutch remembered the holomap layout right, there was still more than 50 percent of the Reserve left to drive...considering the rough distance from where he'd crashed down on the waterfront to where he was right now.

And all of it had to be populated by Covenant. Barring _some_ emptier patches, of course. There was plenty of space for them to occupy this section of the city, as given any ODST's usual track record, they'd end up where the xenos were densest.

Which was fine by Dutch. More than fine, actually.

" Honcho 1-1, this is Magma Actual, over! "

Lt. Gorman called out on comms to the UNSC forces at the Pack's destination- wherever that was, exactly. Dutch still didn't know.

" Come in, Honcho ! Over."

"...Reading you 5x5, Magma, over. "

Gorman jabbed a hand ahead, knifing it toward the M12's 11:00. Wordlessly, Dutch nodded, acknowledging the order and turning where he'd indicated.

" On your 12:00 ! ", he directed. " Take the tunnel, there. "

" Yes, sir ! "

Up in front, a long, steep sided ridge ran from west to east, stretching the entire length of the visible horizon. The raised ground was nearly vertical, and it was just about impossible to be sure how much of it had already been there, and how much of the soil had been heaped and piled up to form it- there was more than a slight amount of foliage and rocks all over it

But, either way, the ridge was definitely a ridge; a completely formed barrier that divided this section of the Reserve from the next. Another topographical feature that Dutch remembered from his map examination, though it _hadn't_ shown the tunnels...so they must've been dug not that long ago.

How convenient.

_You've got the map, boss._

_" _Say status, Actual. Over"

" Sir-we've secured transport, and we've cleared Grid 871 ! Continuing our push toward your 20, over ! "

" And...we've linked up with an ODST ! Corporal Taylor Miles, Heavy Weapons specialist. "

" ...Repeat your last, Lieutenant ! An _ODST,_ over ?! "

" Roger that, sir ! He's currently my driver; I'm oscar mike to our LZ as we speak, sir ! Over."

" Copy, Actual- "

"...What the-? ..._Damn_...! "

The ODST at the wheel kept his eyes forward, but it didn't take much to catch the brand of noisemaking from a volley of Covenant firearms erupting in the background.

The aliens had found the LZ...

" _Hostiles_ !

Someone nearby on his end yelled out, accompanied seconds later by the unmistakable whining-crash of plasma weapons fire, slamming in over the airwaves as if it was right next door. An echoing, whooshing _boom _went off, blotting out all other sounds over the comms link for several seconds.

_Wraith fire ! God, there's a Wraith there-!_

Dutch kept driving, but he didn't have to wait long to find out if Honcho 1-1 had been atomized, or not. Seconds later, a shuddering volley of mixed gunfire erupted, as whoever was backing up the Wraith plowed forward to mop up.

That, and the mortar tank would be lobbing its own hammer blows in as well...

_Things are getting real bad over there real quick..._

_" _Honcho 1-1 ! ", yelled Gorman, bracing himself one handed as the M12 hit a shallow pothole, making it buck hard against its occupants. Needless to say, though, it wasn't even slowed.

" Honcho- "

A steady pattern of mixed energy weapons and UNSC-issued firearms signaled that an enemy attack was definitely underway, as the M12 finally reached the entrance to the tunnel, dipping down at roughly 30 degrees down to lead into a paved-floor passage.

" ..on a shingle ! Yeah...still reading you loud and clear, Magma Actual ! Over."

It was clearly designed for the use of the Reserve's Ranger utility vehicles, or the visitor's touring trucks, with high-strength overhead lights set into the ceiling, and access doors spaced evenly along both walls. There was enough space for dual way traffic, with at least 2 white-painted lanes going both ways, bordered by guardrailed sidewalks.

Dutch took it all in, speeding through the tunnel while keeping the accelerator pressed all the way down. There was an RV to keep, and the clock was ticking down every second that went by-

" _But ,we've got a mechanized Covenant force hitting us head on now- and that spook officer is still hollering down my ear ! _Where are you, Lieutenant ?! "

" We're- "

As Gorman was about to speak, the M12 bucked back, hitting an upward slope as it raced upwards and outwards, out of the tunnel. Dutch's visor automatically went into shielded mode, as the 4x4 headed up.

" We're entering the _Zebra_ Habitat, sir ! Zebra Habitat ! All rollers still running green, over ! "

_Got room to maneuver now !_

_"..Understood, Lt. ! "_

Seconds later, they shot up back into the African sun-

-and a half second later, promptly ran into several Jackals. The Beak-Noses were ambling around in a lazily organized...mob, for lack of a better term, on the lefthand side of the tunnel opening. Their Carbines and Beam Rifles weren't shouldered, and some even had their backs turned.

" Birds ! 3:00 ! "

" I see 'em ! ", Kivec responded.

Of course, the _right_ hand side was wide open and clear...but Jackals were _Jackals. _They weren't towering blocks of armor and muscle like Jiralhane...and Dutch was driving an M12 LRV at highway speeds.

The call was already made.

" Hold on, sir ! " Dutch torqued the wheel, aiming the 4X4 right for the Covenant, as Kivec opened up on them with the M41.

Impressively, Gorman kept right on updating his CO, even as the M12 bore down on the squawking, warbling aliens who attempted to dodge the ramming attack..and mostly didn't succeed, as 3 of them were smashed into the dirt, a 4th was sent hurtling, and a 5th was partially bisected by Kivec giving him a long burst of .50 cal attention.

As the 4X4 shuddered and rocked from the aliens bodies bouncing off it, the LT. multitasked. " We're about 5 minutes out, sir ! Can you maintain your position, over ?! ".

Leveling his BR55 as he talked, Gorman fired a few bursts. Weather he hit anything or not, Dutch wasn't sure- the M12 had already plowed right through the Jackal mob-

\- and yep. The rest of the M12's they'd gathered up at the grove, were taking care of any stragglers. Glancing into the rearview mirror, Dutch watched as one of the other 4X4s performed a " bumper kiss " on a Jackal, causing the alien to just _disappear_ under the chunky front grill. M41 chainguns spewed lead, and gunfire spat from the shotgun seats, working over the last few Beak-Noses that were still upright.

Beautiful. Dutch had to watch the road again, but it was still a pretty sight.

_Give it to em, brothers and sisters._

_" _We'll be there, sir ! Count the minutes- Magma Actual, out ! "

Somehow, Dutch hadn't caught whatever Honcho had said, but the gist of it was enough: his position was under a blowtorch, so to speak, and Magma Company was the cavalry. As mission objectives went , it was blessedly simple.

" _Corporal_ !" The. Lt reached over, hammering a fist off Dutch's right shoulder. " Corporal, there's a another ridge ahead ! Its got a switchbacking road- follow it when we get there ! _Copy ?!_ "

" No problem, sir ! "

The ODST wove the vehicle around the trees of the grove they'd just shot into, leading the rest of the M12s ahead as they neared a sharp dip in the terrian that bent around toward the left.

They got clear of the trees...and right into a _wide_ open area that was bookended on its leftmost side by the Indian Ocean, and on its right by, exactly as Gorman had said, another ridge.

But, this one was a tad more substantial. Reaching up to an impressive 100+plus ( quick ballpark estimate ) feet , the landmass looked like a set of teeth, with jagged rocky protrusions that stuck straight up along its sides and along the top. It ran straight ahead, curving off gradually toward the left, though most of that angle was blocked by a gigantic , roughly pyramidal rocky mound that nearly looked like it'd been _built_ there.

_Kinda out of place..._

Whatever it was, the quasi-pyramid was choking off most of the way ahead- the only gap left was a narrow corridor between it, and the ocean. Like with the tunnel, there was at least enough room for two M12's to ride thorugh side by side.

Even so...

It was a killzone. A deadly funnel, and Dutch felt his spine chill at the sight of it. One well-placed plasma mortar landing right there-

_Well, if we _stopped_ there, it'd be a real deathtrap, _he acknowledged, well aware that the established plan called for continuous movement. If the way those Jackals had been lounging around and basically sitting on their hands, the Covenant in this sector might've gotten lax in their alertness. They were already throwing a_ lot_ of heat at the LZ, and probably had sunk most of their strength into that major play...leaving scraps to cover the approaches.

They'd torn through the Jackals pretty quick, and they didn't look like they'd had a comms gear-could they have raised the alarm already ?

_Depends on what'd around that bend. That's the real question..._

" All units- watch your 3:00 ! ", advised the Lt. " Watch your 3. "

That turned out to be a good order to give, because about another 12 seconds or so, as the lead M12 zipped around the corner, its wheels throwing clods of damp sand up and everywhere-

\- bolts of plasma began to shower them.

* * *

_" Taking fire, sir ! "_

Dutch jinked left, going off pure muscle memory. " 3:00 high ! "

" Yeah...I can see them ! "

It'd be hard not to. Up on the right side , perched high on the ridge, was the source of the plasma:

Shade Turrets. Evidently, the Covenant hadn't dropped their guard all that much after all- they'd placed a battery of the automatic energy weapons systems along the top and flanks of the ridge, right at the crook of where it bent left, and began to sharply get lower and lower, with gentler and gentler slopes, until it eventually ran itself into the Earth right about where the Indian's waterline was.

Right where a switchbacking road clearly ended.

_What excellent landscaping they've done ! Covies, I mean._

_" Engage- enemy turrets, high right ! High right_ ! "

He didn't need to point that out to Kivec- the gunner was already on top of it, working the enemy over as Dutch kept them barreling toward where they needed to go, pulling the rest of Magma through the gap like a parade of dust-spewing rhinos.

Dutch thanked God there was no Wraith _here_\- he'd have stopped the 4x4, and made sure, no matter what, that the others didn't follow him.

" Double time_\- go go go_ ! "

Not that they could sit still, with the Shades still strafing them from the upper right. As the white hot bolts sizzled and whined past, turning the sand to glass wherever they hit, the M12 with the ODST at the wheel made a beeline for the lowest end of the road.

A few bolts stitched the hood of his M12, boiling pits into its EB-green painted armor.

" Private_\- we're taking hits here_ ! Keep 'em off us ! "

" On it- _On it ! "_

The kid- no, he wasn't, he was a _Jarhead_-same as the rest of them-sounded more stressed than before, but not outright rattled. Things were racheting up, after all, and he was barely an E-1.

_Got more growing left to do._

" Goin' up, gentlemen ! ". Dutch eased up on the pedal, throttling back as he wrenched the 4x4 into a righthand turn.

" Brace, brace ! "

Although there was a metal guardrail that ran along the road's edged, more than a few sections of it were either slagged like a wax candle, or missing entirely. Going through one of the gaps would leave any of the M12's completely capsized if they fell off high enough...

" Sir. We've got some dicey terrain here... ", warned the ODST.

" Roger that. "

Gorman promptly spread the word, and Dutch used the RV mirrors to confirm that everyone wasn't abandoning caution for the sake of speed, no matter how critical the latter was. Last thing they needed was for someone to go sailing off the rim of the sheer drop because the Covies had amped up the risk factor even more than how significant it was.

_Good. Somehow , cohesion's sticking nicely._

_And we got _all _our rollers. Even better._

Meanwhile, the barrage of plasma was still on them, but having reached the extent of the guns' horizontal angle, the Pack of M12's was mostly in the clear...mostly. Plasma was still peppering them, though as the lead M12 headed around the hairpin curve, giving its driver a better view of the rest of the units, Dutch was greeted by a flowing column of 4X4s, stampeding up in close pursuit.

Several of the Shades were on fire by now, riddled by the M41 fire. One of them was still going-

"_ Boom !_ ", yelled Dutch's gunner.

Kivec delivered, finally blowing the last of the Shades to ribbons with a burst of rounds that chewed through its side, eviscerating the Grunt at the controls in a shower of sparks and purple blood.

" _Suck_ it, Covie..! "

" Good shooting, Private ! ". Gorman loosed another few bursts, drilling what was left of the Shade for good measure.

" Yeah...stay sharp, though ! ". Dutch hammered down on the accelerator again, spurring the 4X4 back to full speed. " Could be more hostiles nearby...! "

Not in the _immediate_ vicinity, though, at least. Now that the M12 had reached the top of the switchback road, the terrain had changed again

Yet _another_ sheer sided cliff on the left hands side ( one they couldn't see from the beach ), with what was left of the guardrail protecting the righthand side of the road from the cliff's devastating drop. Right ahead of them, there was about half a football field-sized space of level ground, with a lonely looking equipment shed ( or what was probably some kind of shed ) off by the base of the cliff, which was about a hundred feet from where the road vanished into a slit canyon that snaked off leftwards.

_Damn it- another checkpoint in about as many minutes...!_

_" _Magma Actual, Magma Actual- come in ! "

Honcho 1-1 had came back...

" Respond, Magma Actual. "

" Actual here-copying loud and clear ! " There was a sharp clacking noise off to Dutch's right, as the Lt. slammed a fresh magazine home into his BR55 .

" Be advised: I've got reports just now that Covenant activity is _spiking_ across this grid. They've making pushes on _every_ outlying position, not just the LZ ! "

_Well, that's just dandy, ain't it. _Dutch bit his lower lip, guiding the M12 straight into the mouth of the slit canyon.

Heavy shadows fell all around them, as they accelerated into the gap. The walls on either side were high enough to block out most of the sun, though the clumps of shrubbery off on the road's shoulders were still easy to spot. It was the tightest fit Dutch had taken the 4X4 into up till now, without much room for another lane.

_Getting funneled again-!_

He checked via the RV mirrors that the rest of the M12s were following his lead, and found that they were, as Honcho's sitrep continued...without much of an improvement.

" Lieutenant- you anywhere near the _Rhino_ enclosure ?!_ "_

_That _seemed slightly random for about a second, but then Dutch connected the dots-

And so did Gorman. "...Roger that, sir ! We've entered the chokepoint canyon linking to i as we speak..."

Evidently, that was exactly what Honcho wanted to know. " Good- then listen up ! Soon as you enter it, Caldera Company is heavily engaged at the Visitor's Lodge ! They've hunkered down, and holding, but they need backup ! "

" They're reporting Wraiths and Choppers in play, plus a battery of Shades laying down suppressive fire. Eliminate_ as many of those tanks as you can_, Lieutenant ! Do not stop driving, but don't stop shooting ! "

_You read my mind- roughly._

_Commendable course of action...not fully feasible, though_

_" _Is your stock of AT ammo still_ depleted_ ? Over. "

They were tap city when it came to heavy ordinance; the heaviest they _did_ have was the M41s. Corporal Jao still had her Jackhammer- with 1 rocket left in it. Dutch had his Laser...down to 4 shots, with the multi-second charging requirement on top.

Slaying those Wraiths they'd run into with their own entourages way back had been a cinch, sure, but they'd been basically bodyslammed without any warning. They'd been sloppy, careless. If the ones battering Caldera Company were on the back of a sustained attack-

_Yeah- this isn't going to be an encore-_

" ..Yes, sir, but we can resupply from Caldera ! "

" Roger that, Actual-_haul ass over there. _Lieutenant Rasan needs more shooters at her position, and she needs them_ yesterday_. They'll be waiting on you. Update when you've arrived. Honcho 1-1, out."

The M12 swung around a bend, as the pack received its new orders. Dutch eased up on the pedal, skidding a bit, as he realized the sizzling hot tub they were about to land in- there were _more_ Wraiths up ahead.

" Magma: All callsigns Magma, hear this: " Gorman addressed the Pack.

" We've got a diversion coming up; soon as we come out of this canyon, we'll be heavy contact with hostile armor ! Friendlies in the area have a stock of AT ammo we can use, so we'll be taking advantage "

" Corporal Jao ! RV with me at the _Lodge_\- how copy, over ?!

" No problem, sir ! ", responded the Jackhammer woman. " That ODST we grabbed still going ok ?! "

" He's intact, don't you worry. Sending again, Corporal: RV with me at the Lodge. Magma Actual, out. "

_Yeah...I did say I've load her up with all the rockets she could ask for...provided Caldera still has any_

_" Corporal Miles ! _". Gorman turned his attention to him now. " You get all that ?! "

" Every word, sir ! Going to reinforce Caldera Company, right ? "

" That's affirmative !_ Step_ on it, Trooper. "

There was another injection of that icy adrenaline into the ODST's blood, and he could sense it mostly in his legs, and up his spine, as usual. Going up against Wraiths was one thing, but doing it _without_ a pile of Jackhammer rockets at their disposal was...dicey, to say the least.

Well, they still had the mobility of the M12's, and the M41's could absolutely scrap a Wraith...as long as they hit them in the dual weak spots. Dutch wasn't about to do it again, though, if there was a chance they could do the opposite, and engage with the might of Jackahmmer rockets instead. That was the preferable option, by a wide margin.

_As if preferable is that easy to get in life. It isn't_

_This_ was going to be a tricky one; the Pack's operational plan had been all about speed and staying flexible; rearming themselves while a Covie mechanized battalion was assault the ( improvised ) depot they were about to reach wasn't something Dutch would've planned to carry out. He could tell that his officers didn't either, but...plans had a way of getting shifted quicker than the government of San Marino.

_We can pull it off, though. I trust these boys and girls- as much as I can anyway, given the time I've known 'em_

_God, I think so..._

* * *

As he drove out through the mouth of the canyon, the Covenant were there to greet them.

_Mortars ! Incoming, 3:00 high_ ! "

Dutch cranked his head around to where Kivec had alerted them...and sure enough, a blazing purple steak was arcing down from out of the sky, leaving a comet trail behind it.

The purple streak arcing down from the sky had already given itself away as long range Wraith fire, but Dutch wasn't going to call out Kivec for saying what he had. Wraith mortars were _Wraith_ mortars, after all.

"_ Easy,_ Private; that one's going wide ", Gorman assured him.

Tracking the plasma round, Dutch realized the Lt. was right; the Wraith shot was a high one, set to land _way _off left of their current 20. Whoever'd lobbed _that_ one had either garbage quality aim, or it was a ranging shot. Hard to be sure, though.

" Alright. Gun it, Corporal ! "

" Easily done, sir ."

At least they weren't boxed in, or getting pounced on right out of the gate. Laid out in front, the road was blocked on its left by a cliff who's guardrail _hadn't_ been blown wide open. The road snaked off downwards toward the left, following a gentle bend, while the landscape out past it was...

..._wide. _This had to be the largest expanse of open ground Dutch had encountered in the Reserve, with a distant wall that must've been nearly a quarter mile away, if not more. The upper portion of the wall had the dull steel color of being made of duracrete, topped with a rim that bent inward. Just below it, was a " shelf " of land that wrapped around the perimeter of the entire visible horizon, carpeted with scrub and shortened trees.

Short waving grassland and assortment of boulder clusters made up the ground itself. The topography was familiar now, and it was all beginning to look really much the same, baking under the African sun with the clock ticking closer toward noon. There was barely a cloud to be seen overhead-

\- just plenty of plasma bolts.

As the M12 hooked around the road's bend, the ODST noticed more mortar rounds making their appearance...right over a multistory stricture that was planted more or less in the center of the area. In the same style that was par for the course in any resort or engineering project built by someone with money, the building was gleamingly bright and shiny, consisting of blocky and rectangular lower levels, rounded and curved upper ones, and soaring archways that seemed to be...sunroofs, perhaps, all decked out in shades of blood red and bronzed gold.

_Behold, the " Lodge ".._

_...I presume. Looks pretty glitzy._. Dutch chopped their speed, as the M12 rolled down the long sloping roadway extending all the way to where the lodge's front entrance was.

The officer next to him worked the comms system, and soon established a link with the commander of the local garrison. " Lietentant Rasan ! Caldera Actual, Caldera Actual, this is Magma Actual, do you copy ?! "

There was a brief burst of noisy crackling, followed by another that was a few seconds longer.

But, nobody actually replied. There was just garbled static on the M12's comms now...

_Disconcerting..._

_" Lieutenant Rassan ! ". _Gorman made another play at it, using a tone Dutch could easily call 'charged ' . " _Are you receiving_ ?! Over. "

Again, though, there wasn't a response. Static, yes, but nothing else.

" Damn...getting _nothing_ here ! "

" ...Think one of the mortars knocked out their comms ? ", Dutch ventured.

The Lt. didn't say anything for a second, but then agreed.

" .Better the _comms_ themselves got slagged than..."

He didn't finish saying it, but he didn't need to. There was som_ething_ else going on here...something he'd hidden from Honcho 1-1, and not just on that last call.

Dutch'd fighting mode mindset didn't let him get any further than that, so he stowed in in his back mental files. It was still important, in a way, but it'd have to wait. Besides, they were _nearly_ there.

Bearing down on the lodge, Dutch saw that it was bustling with activity. All around and on it, figures wearing UNSC-issued fatigues and armor ran and jogged either forward, toward where the mortar rounds were coming from, or circling the flanks, but headed the same way. The ones lower down were disappearing around the sides of some of the nearest boulder heaps, longarms up on their shoulders, while more were going up the short flights of stairs on the upper levels.

They weren't lying back and it taking it; these Jarheads were reacting to what was hitting them. Some had already spotted the Pack's approach, as a full squad of them that had been about to head back up the wide staircase that formed the center of the main entrance turned back around, jogging back to meet them.

_Encouraging..._

" Hey, Lt- ", added Kivec. " My canteen's nearly dry- I got to snag some of theirs. "

" What_ is_ this- a road trip ? You go stealing their water, I'm making you _walk_ the rest of the way. "

Dutch couldn't help but snicker at the Lt.'s rebuke. It was a...very domestic thing to say. Like they weren't in the epicenter of a full-scale Covenant planetary invasion, riding a column of M12s into a battle that had _Wraiths_ mixed up in it- one of which was capable of turning an M12 and everyone in it into nothing but a pile of slagged and melted scrap with one shot.

The field of battle...it could be very odd sometimes.

Seconds later, the M12 finally pulled up at the front of the lodge.

Dutch brought them to a halt, the beefy wheels crunching gravel under them. As the 4X4 lurched from moving to not, jerking everybody's harness enough to dig sharply into them, the ODST looked at the RV mirror-

" _Corporal Miles ! _ "

A growling engine, fading quick, sounded on his left, and he looked up as another M12 rolled in.

It stopped, there was a thump of boots hitting the ground, and seconds later, a familiar rocket launcher operator came hurrying around the front of the 4x4.

" _Dismount_ ! "

" All units- group _by two, behind_ the Lodg_e. Keep engines running_ !"

As Gorman shouted the newest commands, the unit's AT woman ran up to the lead M12's driver's side. One hand held her M7, and the other had her Jackhammer's carrying sling clutched in an iron grip.

Dutch swung his legs out , and set his own boots down, taking a _briefest_ second to enjoy stretching them.

" Hey, trooper- you doing ok ? "

The ODST unclasped his own M7, and checked its mag count. " Thankfully, yeah. You ?"

" 'Bout the same. L-T said to RV here; said there's a pile of rockets up for grabs ? "

Dutch would've called that one track mind under most circumstances; _most_ of them. Then again, given their_ actual_ circumstances...yeah, it wasn't much to shake his head at.

_How commendable._

" That's the plan. "

" Corporals ! Private Kivec ! "

The Lt. bellowing got their attention, and the two Corporals promptly turned his way.

Beckoning an arm, the officer called them over, as another duo of Leathernecks descended the stairs to join the ones already there.

Coming over as directed, the Corporals got there as the new arrivals did-one of who was female. Judging by the way the other Marine was lagging slightly, Dutch could already surmise that _this_ was Lt. Rassan.

Slightly taller than average, one of her sleeves ha been half removed, revealing a well toned arm that was wrapped in gauze dressing. There was a hint of plasma scorching up along the upper side of her all the way to chin level, leading strength to Dutch's suspicion that a Wraith had blown her command post to dust, but not her with it.

It was either skill...or divine intervention. Not that Dutch could differentiate, and especially not already. Still...

_Good officers. Worth pure gold and diamonds.._

" Lt. Morsea Rassan. " Gorman made the introduction, tipping his head at her. " Lt, this Private Mo Kivec, and Corporals Taylor Miles, and Dara Jao. Corporal Jao's my unit AT operator, and she needs any spare Jackhammer rockets you have. "

An introduction, _and_ an explanation, all rolled up. Dutch called that impressive.

The other Lt. must've agreed-presumably. Her expression didn't betray much of what she might be thinking, but there was light and strength in it anyway, as she nodded a greeting toward the two Corporals. " Glad you could join us. We have plenty of ordinance, but no mechanized arm of our own. You've changed that now. That's improved the odds. "

_I don't doubt it; you do ? We got God watching our for us, and then there's me._

_IStill... you're concerned. _That's as crystal _clear as the day itself._

_"_ _That's_ what we're talkin' about. Where's your cache- "

**Baroooooomm !**

A distant rumbling, booming...explosion ? Impact ? _Something_ , that was either of those or both, sounded from some point out beyond the lodge.

It was powerful enough to shake the ground, with vibrations thrumming up trough Dutch's legs, and then threw him off balance. He was driven to nearly falling over, staggering off to one side with arms flailing out to regain some stability.

_What in the name of- ?!_

_What- ?!_

Someone swore off burst of expletives, but the ODST caught the shortest tail end of it, with the echoing racket not quite finished dissipating. The fight or flight response fluid was flooding Dutch's blood again, and it boomed in his ringing ears.

"...Status, everyone !_ Status_ !", Lt. Rassan yelled.

Glancing around, Dutch found Jao was halfway back up, still with her M7 in hand. Kivec had his palm squeezed against his left ear, while Lt. Gorman had lost his canteen in the blast ( ? ) wave, and was just now grabbing it back off the deck...

_What. Was. That ?!_

_"_...Still online, ma'am. ", Dutch reported to her. The ODST knew _that_ much, at least.

" What the ***** was that ?! What _was_ that ?! ", exclaimed the recently floored Kivec.

He was saying what they were all thinking, _that_ was for sure. Dutch knew it wasn't a plasma hit of any kind; didn't sound like one. Actually, it didn't even seem like _any_ kind of blast, let alone one the signature way of their xeno attackers.

_Whatever it'd been-_

" Alright- _focus._ Gear check ! ". Gorman pointed at the lower ranking Leathernecks. " Let's go. "

**_" LT ! LT, we got a problem up here ! "_**

_God, my eardrums hurt enough as it is..._

Someone was calling out at them, from higher up the stairs.

_What're _you_ hollering about..?_

Turning around toward where the shout had come from from, Dutch spotted a Marine standing there, rifle in one hand...and looking like he'd seen a mountain collapse.

" Lt-! ", he gasped. " My comms- they're offline, and, the- "

_"_ _Hudson_ ! " the bandaged Lieutenant used the name like a whip. " This had_ better_ be important- the ***ing Earth just cracked open out there ! "

" No, no it ain't the _ground._.! "

Shaking his head vigorously, Hicks then stabbed his hand back they way he'd come.

"- Its the orbital ! The_ orbital tether is coming down !_ "


	10. Only Whispers

_...The orbital ?!  
_

_They knocked down..an Orbital ?!_

From how hard the ground had quivered seconds ago, Dutch already knew _something_ cataclysmic had happened. There was no weapons system in the whole UNSC that he knew of ( barring a nuke, of course ) that could rattle the Earth like that. Even the Covenant, who'd thrown everything from plasma handguns to Scarab Walkers at him over the years, didn't have anything with that much oomph behind it, short of a full-on " cleansing " beam fired from one of their naval death-bringers...whether that be one of the CCS cruisers _or_ the destroyers.

If it hadn't been for the wide-eyed, slightly hyperventilating Private on the steps right now, Dutch would've been thinking the aliens had rolled something _else_ in, nobody had ever seen...but, finding out the _orbital_ was coming down ?

Yeah, _that_ wasn't much better. In fact, that was about as bad. If not worse.

" You'd better level with me, Private: _The orbital ?_! ", a distinctly incredulous Rassan shouted.

"_ The **tether is** **collapsing!?**_ "

" _Roger that_ ! ", the Private on the stairs confirmed. " The whole-

**BWOOOOOM !**

**BWOOOOM !**

He didn't get any further than that, though, because it was right about _then,_ that the ground did a repeat of what it had before- shaking so bad, it sent everyone reeling and staggering, desperately fighting for balance.

Again, Dutch was thrown around, and his left shoulder clanged noisily off the side plating of the M12. Biting back a string of profanity, he fought to stabilize himself, planting both boots as firmly as he could into the dust, stiffening his legs and fighting the rumbling.

Someone else _did_ cuss loudly- Private Hudson, from the sound of it- as the earsplitting booming noises continued, with the Earth reverberating with each of them. It was completely deafening, and all the ODST could do against it was brace with everything he had...while maintaining an iron and vise grip on his M7S.

It'd take a lot more than a disintegrating orbital tether to get him to drop _that._..

...but Corporal Jao _had_ gotten dropped. The AT specialist was freshly tossed on the ground again, sprawled out, though not motionless.

_Are you...?_

Dutch was already moving her way, but even as he did so, yelling her name, Jao was in motion, gradually rising back to a standing postion again.

_Oh...Thank God._

Clearly, he hadn't realized how...resilient the other corporal was. Barely heavy enough to be able to handle that Jackhammer easily without having a hard time of if, if he had to guess. Still, she wasn't made of paper, _that_ much Dutch was sure of.

Impressive toughness. The real kind.

_But, still-_

_" __Get under the stairwell!_ "

Lt. Gorman's voice somehow managed to be heard, even with all the cacophony going on of another one of the booming roars, as he yelled the command, pitching it as loud as he could get it.

**" Go, go-!** "

" Hudson, move your_ ****_ hide ! **Now** ! Get in there.. !".

It was all going down at the same time, and with the overlapping auditory assault of what Dutch now knew...was the sound of the Orbital Tether's support rings hitting the Earth. Now he had an idea of what was going on...and frankly, it couldn't have gotten much worse.

_Its **miles** tall...and its** falling** on us...  
_

_..God. What's that gonna do...?!_

But, there was no time to stand around and think about it; there was only moving _and_ thinking. Dutch ran over to Jao as the AT Jarhead regained her footing, seized her by the nearest shoulder, and practically threw her-all of, what, 155 Ilbs ?- toward where Gorman was sending them.

"_ Back of the stairwell, Jao.._ ". No need to say it any louder, not when she was this close. " _Git !_"

" Copy...! ", the other Corporal acknowledged.

As she careened off, Dutch watched as Gorman and Kivec led the way, with Rassan having made sure to charge partially up the steps to be that certain that she'd drag Hudson into the " safety " of the stairwell's shadow. Higher up, on the upper levels of this side of the lodge, the ODST caught a glimpse of more Marines on the scramble, rushing to put some distance between them and the incoming rain of metal and concrete.

Or, at least that's what they _seemed_ to be doing-

Dutch just ran then, charging off after Jao as the Earth did another shake. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the bulk of all that space junk was raining down _here, _right down around _their_ 20...!

_One direct hit...!_

_That's all it'd take..._

Thankfully, it was only a stone's throw ( literally ) from where the M12s were parked to the tucked-in area just behind the staircase...decorated by a patch of gravel with some kind of tree sticking out of it. A frosty, glass-fronted door was set into the nearby wall.

The mismatched group of Leathernecks dived into the further side of the alcove. Jao choose to have hunkered by the door, while Kivec and Gorman were using the tree as a shield. Rassan had hauled a yelping Hudson like a sack of grain over to the corner opposite where they'd come in, shoving him forcefully onto the deck.

Dutch came to a skidding stop somewhere in the middle of all of them. Automatically, he'd oriented himself so that he was pointed toward the Covenant _would_ come from...if they'd been here.

Right _now_, though, all that seemed to be coming at them was the orbital tether itself.

" They did it, damn, it, _damn it_", Hudson- it was definitely him, from somewhere off on Dutch's right- gasped loudly.

"_ The Covies dropped an orbital on us_. ..! !_A-Are they insane ?!_ "

**Bwooom !**

_Oh, this rook **definitely** hasn't seen a glassing._

_Yeah, he's a true greenhorn alright...and a skittish one at that._

Dutch exhaled, a hissing slight breath between his teeth. Sure, _he'd_ watched more than a few planets getting burned from one pole to another, but this Private hadn't even gone offworld in his whole career- _that_ couldn't have been more obvious.

If he had, Hudson wouldn't have...well, not that he'd _want_ to get anywhere near a glassing. _That_ tended to get you killed pretty quick.

Still, at least he'd _know_ what they could do...and one step closer to not being a rook no more.

" _ That's what they do_-! ", Jao was quick to educate him. " They're out of ships because the Navy _whupped them good_\- so they had to drop the Tether to get rid of us ! "

**Bwooom...bwoooom !**

_The Covenant ?! Out of ships ? Yeah...I** wish.**.._

_I really do...I pray we're still in the fight up there.  
_

" Private ! ", Gorman stepped in. " Keep a lid on that.",

"...Yes, sir. "

The echoing impact crashes rolled on for a few more seconds...maybe half a minute if Dutch wasn't_ that_ badly off his guess. He couldn't actually see any of them making planetfall, though...all he could see from the tucked-in stairwell shadow was the collection of M12's, bouncing and rocking on their thick wheels like popcorn kernels on a sizzling plan every time a quake struck.

Was the rest of the Lodge's Jarheads ok ? Dutch couldn't say. Much as he wanted to find out, the here and now was all he could give attention to. But, at least nothing from the toppling tether had landed square on them...

..._yet_, that was. Emphasis on _yet. _Orbital debris wasn't exactly _precise_ when it came cascading down, not even remotely.

_Tether could reach into Tanzania if you laid it out...so_

_-___How much of it is headed for **us** ?__

* * *

They stayed put, till it was _finally_ over.

The booming sounds had died off, at long last. There was definitely more debris pelting the Earth, needless to say, but no more were bombarding Magma Company, or their new hosts.

_One_ high-end issue was resolved; not that they didn't have_ plenty_ more trouble to deal with.

" Game...over Game over, man ! ".

Beginning with Pirvate Hudson, to begin with. The rook wasn't_ panicking_, not really, but he was damn near getting close.

" Geeez...", he was jabbering. " What the.._.what we can even do now_ ?! They just knocked down the Tether like it was_ nothing...! "_

There was a rustling thumping noise;_ someone_ had smacked him upside the helmet...or seized and dragged him again.

It turned out to be Rassan once again " That's _enough,_ Private! Being scared is one thing, but you will _not_ lose your shit on _my_ watch ! Understood ?!"

" Hey- _hey look at me._ "

" Need some backup? ", Gorman offered.

Rassan, however, declined. " Thanks for the offer, but-I got this. "

Sparing a glance over his right shoulder, Dutch found Rassan holding Hudson in place with a hand on his upper arm. The rook was staring at the dust, his MA5 cradled loosely in his own arms.

The other LT. did soften her tack ( slightly ), though, as she continued; " What you _will_ do, is follow my orders, and follow _my_ lead. You don't panic if I don't- got it ? "

"..Do you want to get out this alive ? You want to survive, right ?! "

"...I just...they're- they're so damn _powerful._ ", the Rook whispered. " Do we even have a shot at taking 'em on... ? "

" I'm not ONI, Private: I don't lie through my teeth with every word. You either go and find the Covenant, or the Covenant will find you. _That's_ what's going to happen. "

Well, she wasn't wrong. More importantly, she was doing a good job of getting the point across, if Dutch was any judge. Plenty of steel in that voice; she wasn't messing around with setting the rook straight, and keeping his head from coming completely off his neck..

_Not bad, Lt..not too shabby._

" _Lieutenant_...! Hey, Lt..! "

A shout from somewhere over the railings on the righthand side of stairs leading down and around into the alcove was shadowed a second later by a Marine appearing with it. He craned slightly over the metal barrier, trying to get a look at everything-

-and then spotted them.

" Lt ! "

" Not done with _you_, yet, Hudson ", Rassan warned him, before addressing the new arrival up top.

" What is it, Sergeant ? "

" You ok down there, ma'am ?! ", the NCO on the stairs called.

" Yeah.. yeah, combat effective, Bishop. "

_No kidding. Y_ou _are if nobody else was, Rassan._

_That's for sure..._

The now-introduced Sergeant Bishop scanned the others, though he stopped dead when he spotted Dutch.

" Holy- is that him, Lt ? That's the Helljumper you talked about ? "

" That's right- and he needs some of our Jackhammer stash ! ". Rassan stood, while beckoning sharply for Hudson to do the same.

"Alright- _On your feet, everyone_ ! ", Gorman called. Unsurprisingly, Jao was one of the first to move, bouncing up and bounding over to join Dutch, with Kivec not lagging much behind.

" Let's go ! _Form up_ ! "

" Sergeant ! Hold there- we'll be right up ! ", Rassan told him.

" Double time, all of you ".

Dutch needed no urging; he was moving at a run right away. The ODST quickly reached the base of the stairs on the righthand side, rounded them, and began taking them several at a time.

Looking at his 6, he wasn't surprised to be closely tailed by Jao; she was really shadowing him today..

As he charged up the incline, the ODST saw that more of the lodge's garrison was beginning to re-coalesce after obviously finding safer places to duck and cover while the orbital was showering the region with its bits. Groups and bunches of them- established squads, or mismatched ones who'd wound up together.

Dutch had emerged onto a large, sprawling space that was hundred of feet from end to end. It was fully covered overhead by some kind of...awning ? Dutch wasn't sure what to call it, but whatever it was, it was a dulled orange material that was letting in the sun's light, but cutting out all the searing glare.

Before the Covenant, this place had been where the Reserve guests could observe the wildlife that lived in it, while relaxing on the padded benches and chairs that were arranged around the perimeter railings. Even just days earlier, this whole place

The ODST eyed them all, searching for any who'd been wounded, but none of the Jarheads he was seeing appeared to be. All of them were vertical...but after all the action they'd been through recently, there had to be an aid station ( or, several ) set up on the premises.

Insid_e, needless to say...No point putting it up top. Come on; you knew that already.  
_

Two of them, jogging from left to right across the width of the viewing deck, were the first to spot the ODST. Each of the two leathernecks was carrying an ammo can in each hand, and one of the Marines nearly dropped his as he stopped dead.

The one standing next to him didn't know what was going on, but a half-second later, he did, also spotting Dutch. His buddy was already in the act of pointing at the ODST, then rembered he was carrying a box of ammo, and quickly set it down first.

" _Hey-trooper_ ! ", he yelled. " _Hey...!_ "

" Where's the rest of your squad-

" Badowski ! ". Bishop bluntly interjected. " Get that ammo up to the forward M41s- _now._ Didn't I give you that job ?! "_  
_

A grin tugged on Dutch's mouth; he couldn't help it. Sometimes, it was just plain satisfying to watch some rawhide getting verbally sat down-if he really needed it, that was. And, this guy pretty much did.

" Hey- did I ?! Then _get on it- go_. You too, Raymond !"

" ..Oh,..um...Yeah, Sarge. ", acknowledged the other ammo carrier, slightly put off balance by the NCO doing what NCOs do best.

" Come on, man..."

" Hey- but its an_ ODST_, though.. Alright, yeah, I know.."

Leaving the rank and file Jarheads to lug the bullets, Dutch and Jao- yeah, she was still there- kept following Bishop onward. The Sergeant led them deftly past other groups of additional Marines, all of whom were still getting reorganized, carrying more loads of ammo and munitions, rechecking their weapons...

" How its been for you up till now ? ", Dutch asked Bishop. " You keeping them back with who you've got to work with ? "

It was a good guess that they had, as Caldera was still hunkered down here on the Lodge, needless to say. But, that rain of Tether-bits was making it hard to be sure...

Bishop didn't look at him as they moved along, but he did answer. " We've been hit hard enough, but we weren't about to call it a day, and attempt a fallback. Most of the heat was coming from their Wraiths behind and on the ridge...haven't gotten any of that since the Tether went boom, though.

Not quite chaos, though. But, then again, an _orbital tether_ had collapsed, close enough that the ground had shook like a quake. At least it seemed to have blunted the Covenant offensive, though; Dutch hadn't heard the woosh of plasma mortar salvos from the Wraiths for a while...not since the tether's debris had begun pelting the place.

_Did...the tether's chunks take 'em all out ?_

_God, _that'd_ be convenient..._

Briefly indulging in wishful thinking aside, the ODST stayed on point, letting the Sergeant led the way.

It didn't take much longer, though. Aside from plenty of shocked expressions and glances from the other Jarheads, nobody else slowed them down...probably due mostly to Bishop barking at anyone who oogled them too long.

Finally, they got where they were going: some kind of fortified position built right onto the edge of the Lodge's perimeter rail. It wasn't alone, of course- within a stone's throw, was a static M41 postion, also surrounded by more sandbags- but the one Dutch had come up to was...different.

Sandbags had been piled and packed into a rough semicircle, forming a horseshoe-shaped barricade that was easily wide and long enough for at least 2 individuals to fit into, if not a whole fireteam. The sides of the ring were high enough so that nobody on the Reserve's plains below the rail would have a clean shot ( if any shot at all ) up onto it, but giving whoever was in it a clear LOS on_ them._

_Decent enough_, on its own, but whoever had made this had gone a step more; they'd piled scrap tiles from the Observation deck's floor, along with any other bits of debris and scrap they'd been able to scrounge up from anywhere nearby ( Dutch knew Covenant metal when he saw it, and there was indeed a slab of it inserted into the mix here ).

Now, _that_ was unconventional. But, in a clever way; the jumbled mass of scrap and junk was making the whole position look more like something that _already_ blown it up. Even with the deception blown ( when/if someone finally engaged it, or_ got_ engaged by it, either or ), the extras on the barricade would help soak up at least _some_ of the incoming plasmastorm the Covenant would be slinging.

As improvised field fortifications went, it wasn't _that_ flimsy; Dutch had seen much worse expected to do much more...and fail more often than they succeeded. This, on the other hand, looked like it would actually keep you alive if you ducked behind it...unless a Wraith shot landed smack dab on it. Or withing that

That the barricade wasn't anything but atoms yet said that hadn't happened yet, obviously. Still, the Jarheads manning it would've cleared out by then...

..and speaking of which, 3 of them were still in it, as Duch and co raced up. Two of them were staring out downrange, weapons all in hand and leveled. The third was sitting with his back against the wall of bags and scrap

_Jackpot ! _

_" Jenkins ! ",_ Bishop pitched his voice up, calling out at them.

" Sarge ?! ". The brows of the Marine serving at the position's reargeard shot up, as he looked up and then saw them. " Hey...Sarge ! "

One of the other Jarhead's helmeted heads swiveled around, and the second of the Marines spotted them. Unlike the other one, he was sporting an elaborate set of facial tattoos...ones that could only be called..., well, _fearsome_.

_Is that..._Maori _? Looks like it.._

_Yeah...now _that's_ a rarity these days._

_" _Jenkins ! ". The NCO didn't waste another second. " Give me another count on your Jackhammer ammo...! "

" Still got 18 left, Sarge. _18,_ exactly. ", the Marine with the tattooed face replied, promptly answering in full. He tipped his head to a neatly placed stacked pile of long munitions cases, tucked into the righthand corner of the ring.

He put a hand out, patting the stored warheads. " You know I _always_ keep track of them. "

" Yeah..yeah, I do. ", Bishop nodded, surveying the cases.

" Allright...Corporal Miles ! Jao ! "

He turned toward the two corporals, and pointed at the cases. " Grab a few of those, but don't weigh yourselves down..."

" Oh, _hell yeah_...". Jao was unmistakably delighted.

" Jenkins ! Give 'em a hand. Everyone else, _eyes out !_"

That seemed prudent, for sure, though Dutch had been doing the same every few seconds since he'd come up on this spot...and he hadn't seen anyone moving around down there.

By 'anyone ', that meant the Covies, needless to say. When Magma Company rolled up on the Lodge, the sky had been practically _raining_ Wraith plasma, but as Dutch gazed over the terrain ahead, he didn't see any-even any piles of destroyed ones.

All there was to see down there, was more of the same kind of postcard-worthy grasslands that were carpeting the entire Reserve, along with the usual towering cliffs in the distant background. Closer in, and more off on the left, another cliff that was barely a third of the height of the ones further out ran in a gentle curve, topped with more bushes and a handful of baobab trees.

Well, postcard-worthy for sure...aside from all the Tether scrap.

They weren't specks, either; some of them were so tall, that were casting shadows ! Giant husks of space-resistant metal, buried at least halfway into the ground, forming craters around each one...and they were scattered as haphazardly all around they should be for something as tall as an _orbital tether _disintegrating like a kicked Jenga tower.

If if they'd been any bigger, the shockwaves from the impacts would've washes over the Lodge on this side like a tidal wave, given how close some of them looked to be. They were just these hulking, bulky chunks of scrap metal and what other space-age materials had gone into the tether, strewn around like so much wrapping paper- even though any of them probably weighed as much as a Grizzly tank, at the _lightest._

_God almighty...! This could've gone so badly for us..._

Dutch didn't have the luxury of soaking it in for long, though- he couldn't afford more time than the handful of seconds he'd been spending, not with-

" Hey- _Corporal Miles ! _Gawk on your own time, and get over here ! "

_Damn. Got distracted...!_

Blinking, and pivoting right, Dutch left the demotion derby display alone, while suppressing a twinge of annoyance. He didn't usually commit _rookie_ mistakes...

...but, today was just a train of things going wrong anyway.

" Yeah...on it, Sarge. Don't worry. "

" Come on, Trooper; we got rockets coming out of our ears here ! ". Jao was as excited as Dutch had expected her to be, already in the process of prying open one of the cases, and carefully lifting one of the Jackhammer warheads clear.

Coming over to her side, Dutch dropped to both knees alongside the other corporal, and immediately pitched in. The sight of so much heavy weapons ordinance all in the same place was..

...well, it was a beautiful_ godsend,_ it was it was. Without a doubt, Dutch found it beautiful.

" Man, you sure keep your word, don'tcha...", remarked the AT Jarhead .

Looking over at her, Dutch saw she was grinning from one ear to ear. She was having a _ball_ now, the ODST recognized. Made sense; known her less than a day, but she loved blowing things up as much as he did.

_Like a lost sister..._

_" _ Here's your treasure, Jao...! ". The ODST flipped open a case, revealing another pair of warheads, and tucked them beneath his arm.

" Freaking.._.gold_, man", the other corporal expressed her satisfaction.

All well and good, sure, but they were still pressed for time here. Obviously, the tether's junk rain had spooked the Covenant into withdrawing, but that couldn't last for much longer. The Xenos were smart enough to run, but they'd be back before long- they were no doubt getting the gibbering Grunts back into something resembling a fighting unit so they could be thrown at the Lodge in another assault _right now._

But, when had they ever _not_ been in a hurry...?

_Hardly ever, is the answer. The kind that just doesn't change._

Dutch kept that to himself, though, as he opened up another case and retrieved some more warheads. Out the corner of his left eye, he watched Jao doing the same to...a 3rd case ? Hard to be sure, but she'd worked through them like lightning.

" Allright- I got _5_ here..! ", he reported, glancing down at the bundle of explosives he now had clamped tightly against his side.

" 5 ? ", asked Bishop.

" Roger that. "

The NCO nodded. " Alright, alright...what about you, Corporal Jao ? "

" I got _7_, Sarge ! ".

_12 rockets ? That's a lot of boom for one Jackhammer, no arguments, but-_

Sure, it _seemed_ excessive at first...

_...Well, the Covenant probably have a whole company of Wraiths waiting for us down the road. That's only logical.  
_

_" _You can carry that easy ? ". Bishop did sound skeptical, but that wasn't uncalled for. Not _entirely.._.

" No problem, Sarge ". Dutch assured. " They're in good hands. "

" Thanks, Trooper. ".

It was then, that the marine who'd been leaning on the barricade interrupted with some less than positive news. " Hey...Sarge ?! "

The warning note in his voice was enough to get Dutch standing in a flash, though with the all the Jackhammer warheads he was now lugging, he couldn't exactly one-hand his M7S.

Still, if they_ was_ anyone coming, he had to see for himself.

" You see something, Jenkins ?! ". Bishop moved forward, rapidly circumventing Dutch to join the Private at the rail.

The lower-ranking Leatherneck had leveled his rifle over the edge, staring down its scope. " I think...I think there're some _Jackals_ down there..."

_Covie scouts...poking around ?  
_

_Yeah...that tracks, all right. They're prepping to hit here again, just like I thought.  
_

_" _Jackals...? ". Bishop unlimbered his own rifle, put it to his shoulder, and scoped down.

Blinking, Dutch utilized his helmet's zoom function, pushing it to the maximum. It still couldn't match the mag level on his M7S, but without it, it was the next best thing.

And, it proved to be enough here: emerging from around and between the mangled girders of some of the tether debris, were 4 of the spiny-headed alines, all of whom had beam rifles in hand.

_Great...a bunch of beaks_

_Could be worse, though...better them than the Gorillas._

_" _Yeah-Jackals. ", muttered the NCO. He knew what _that_ meant, as Dutch suspected that he did...

Its how Covenant assaults began: A handful of the Beaks would arrive, and would use their long-range scopes to get a read on the UNSC position. On top of feeding intel back to their superiors, the Jackals were, of course, _snipers. _Spotting them downrange had anybody who knew a single thing about Jackals ducking for cover..or reaching for an S2 rifle.

" What ? We've got beaks inbound ? ", Jao piped up.

" That's affirmative ", Dutch confirmed to her, feeling liquid anticipation seeping into his blood. " They're probing us- more are gonna be comin' in soon. "

_Better raise the alarm-_

Turning around to face the rest of the Lodge's roof, Sergeant Bishop proceeded to do exactly that. He cupped his hands to his mouth, and-

_" _**Stand to ! Stand to,**_ we've got hostiles scouting our perimeter ! "_

Sergeants as a rule didn't lack for volume, and Bishop fit the bill to a T. More than a few Marines heard the call, stopping cold in whatever they were doing or going, with heads all turning his way.

"_ Jackals ! Jackals spotted ! Prepare for inbound enemy assault waves..!_ ", the NCO boomed.

The Leathernecks responded with alacrity and competence, which didn't surprise Dutch one bit. Hudson might've been a bit skittish, but as a unit, Caldera Company seemed to be as put together as Magma- nobody continued standing still if that's what they'd been doing, and all of them began to move, heading with clear purpose to either the edges of the roof, while squad leaders spread the word between themselves, and to their charges.

" Where are my marksmen ?! ", demanded Bishop. " Get on the Jackals ! Top of the ridge, reference the center ! "

Already bustling, the Lodge rooftop became a hive of activity, as the Marines rushed to finish getting ready to receive the Covenant. What fighting units that were fully formed began jogging toward the perimeter, while the members of the rear echelons dived into carrying on ferrying ammo and gear to where it was needed, emerging from the doors leading up from the Lodge's lower levels, with their arms loaded with additional gear or munitions.

The whip-sharp crack of an S2 rifle blasted out...soemone had finally gotten on the counter sniping.

Watching them in progress, Dutch felt like he'd have no issue with sticking around, and slugging it out against the upcoming aliens shoulder to shoulder with them...if it wasn't for having his real squad still out there in New Mombassa somewhere.

Oh...and having gotten roped into helping Magma Company out with whatever ONI had them working on._ That_ was somewhere deeper in the Reserve.._.presumably._

" Keep your eyes on them ", Bishop ordered the barricade Marines, as he lowered his BR. " Lasram, Mua-you'd better be on point !"

" Roger that, Sergeant ", responded the Jarhead with the tattooed face.

Jao must've been thinking the same, judging by what she had to say next.

" Man...I wish we could stick around, and give 'em a hand. Sure they could use it..."

Dutch didn't doubt that; aside from Gorman, Jao had shown the most of that " go-get-'em " spirit he'd seen from Magma...and that was saying something. Looking at her right now, there was everything in her tone and posture that said she was in the mood for a real knockdown fight. A fight, more accurately, that had a high chacne of inflicting a considerable number of enemy casualties.

The other Corporal spent a few full-on seconds staring down at where the enemy's recon element had shown up, and for a moment, Dutch wondered if he'd have to intervene personally, and drag her away...

_Eyes have fire in them..and that jaw is clenched at the back...I know hints when I see 'em_

_Its not about a deathwish. She has something personal against them..._

_...but then, don't we all ?_

_Yeah, I'd say we do._

_" _Right on, Jao, _right on_...but we got our own job. "

" Hey, don't think I don't know.

" _ONI's_ damn job...". There was no mistaking how much the other corporal disliked the Naval Intelligence Service- and again, that was no shocker. After all, did anybody in the UNSC's rank and file trust them ? After all the shady covert activity ONI had done in the past, what they were still up to, even these days ?

Hardly _anybody_ liked them, and why wouldn't they ? . It was simply how much you thought they all sucked- if it wasn't for the value of their Prowler Corps at screwing up the Covenant in space battles, there'd be a lot more grunts that a chip toward them...

...and there already were _plenty _of those.

" Corporal Miles ! Jao ! ". Bishop was getting their attention again.

Turning to look, they found him already a yard or so away, having already begun to race back down toward where the M12s of Magma company were waiting.

The Sergeant made a brisk " Come on " motion with his free arm. " Get a move on ! "

" You've got an objective to reach, don't you ?! "

* * *

_Vbrmmmmm...!_

As the M12's engines coughed to life, and Dutch shifted it into drive, his mind was already going a mile a second...

_How much of a horde are we diving into ? Sure, just Jackals back there at the tunnel, but-  
_

_Wraiths. **Got** to be Wraiths back there with them..._

_Of course_ it would be...the Covenant weren't ones to bring anything less than_ considerable_ firepower to any fight. With all the plasma fire that'd been in the sky, before the tether fell, that tactical doctrine was in full effect here in the Reserve, and while they would have the common sense to do recon, that was only a prelude to what followed...

A total slugfest, to put it more simply. All that Wraith fire had a source, and without confirmation that the Tether debris had crushed them, it'd be up to Magma to lock horns with the alien armor.

If it hadn't been for all the mobility afforded to them by riding in M12's...

_Wouldn't even attempt it, orders from ONI or not._

_At least we got some Jackhammer boom on our side now. Some heavy ammo in our camp.._

Yeah...having a fully loaded Jackhammer launcher in the group was certainly an edge, not to mention the column's AT operator was no slouch at handling the thing, and was chomping at the bit to employ said skill against the Covenant, with _generous_ violence.

" Come _on,_ trooper ! You're flooring it, right ?! "

Oh...and she currently was riding shotgun with him.

I'td been Lt. Gorman who had had ordered the switch-now that the Herd had more than just _2_ Jackhammer rounds on hand, it was now Corporal Jao who was on Dutch's right, as the ODST steered the lead M12 around the Lodge's rightmost side. Charred craters dotted the ground, marking where Wraith mortars had struck, as the 4X4 vehicle led the others in the formation past and over the abused field.

" Woman, what else would I be _doing_ ?! ". Dutch _already_ had the accelerator pressed all the way down, with the steering wheel shaking hard under his gloves as the vehicle's speedometer revealed exceeded 65 mph.

" I'm checking that speed dial...ok...ok. _That's_ perfect ! "

_Oh, she took a glimpse at the dash ? Backseater.._

" Well, what'd you expect ?", ODST returned fire. " _I fall out of the damn sky_ for a living ! "

He torqued the wheel around right, pulling the strung-out column of M12s around the front end of a jumbled mass of Tether scrap, before straightening out and steadying their course dead ahead.

Directly down the length of their 12:00, as they rounded the debris, there was a...dead antelope lying on one side.

After so long spent in the Reserve, Dutch had nearly forgotten that there was any wildlife in this place. But, now he'd finally discovered what the Covies had been up to with the local fauna...

...and it was unsurprisingly nothing gentle. The dead herbivore wasn't alone, either; surrounded on every side, were several others. All of them were clearly shot to death..and given the lack of blood puddles under their corpses, it was a safe guess that ballistic rounds hadn't been responsible.

It was nearly enough to qualify as a whole _herd._...all just shot to death in the most methodically violent way possible.

_Good God..!_

_What did they-?_

_" _Son of a bitch..they lit up the _animals ?!_ "

Over the howl of the air rushing past them, Kivec's reaction was still audible, and it more or less in the same envelope as Dutch was: " This is a fresh level of twisted, even for them "-ness.

Neither of them, or Jao for that matter, was _completely_ shocked at the thought alone that the Covenant would gun down animals ( let alone ones that weren't exactly known for their ferocity or aggressive nature ), but actually coming across some of them was just...well, it drove the point home, basically.

_Savages.._

_Well, that much about 'em hasn't changed._

_"_ _That_ ain't right ! ", the Private on the M41 shouted. " They just_ shot_ 'em...! "

" Like hunting _us_ wasn't enough..."

Dutch watched, out the corner of his eye, as Jao twisted around to get a better angle on the slaughtered wildlife. She proceeded to then exclaim something in...Chinese ?

_Vietnamese_, maybe ? The ODST had another flash of internal annoyance someplace in his chest when he realized he_ still_ didn't know. As much as he knew it wasn't vital- he knew her name, and he knew she wasn't a screwup who couldn't be counted on-

Dutch was just curious. There was nothing wrong with that...but he'd have to wait to find out.

Instead, he offered his own take on the charred scene that was already well behind them by now. " Xenos don't care about Earth, or _anyone_ living on it ! They're here to kill things, plain and simple..."

" Yeah..., agreed Jao, exhaling. " That about sums it up-"

" Corporal Miles ! Corporal Miles,_ respond ! "_

_Oh..._

_Nice of you to chime in, Lt._

" Boss is calling. ", the other Corporal commented.

" On you, trooper. "

Dutch tweaked the wheel. " Yeah-I got it ".

_Multitasking time._

" Receiving you loud and clear, sir ! ", the ODST addressed the officer, as he torqued the M12 into a lefthand turn.

" Tunnel mouth is clear, Lieutenant ! We got a_ clear shot_ through..."

Looming ahead of them, was the gaping maw of the tunnel entrance that he'd gotten a glimpse of back he was at the edge of the Lodge's rail. By some miracle, none of all the copious amount of Tether debris had landed in front of it...or at least not enough of it to block the way. Fingers of twisted metal were stabbing up like a metallic dead forest in a patch just off to one side, having been sunk in deep by the impact of falling from God-knew how high up, but they wouldn't end up tearing into the sides of the M12's as they'd go by.

Magma Company wasn't blocked, _yet_...

" Repeat: Tunnel is _clear_ ! ". Dutch advised. His mouth was beginning to get seriously dry at this point, but...that'd have to wait.

As a lot of things were having to...

"...Roger that, Corporal. "

" You're _on point_ today. ". There was a note of being impressed in Gorman's voice, Dutch was certain.

_Good with it, good without._

_" _Alright- _Maintain your speed,_ Trooper ! ", Gorman commanded. " Only _one_ way forward from here till the DZ ! "

" Watch for anti-vehicle weapons fire ", he added. " Copy !? "

Neither of _those_ would b_e_ no problem at all.

" Solid copy, sir ! ", acknowledged the ODST.

The M12 flew through the tunnel mouth, and a quick glance at the RV mirror...and yes, the rest of the column of 4X4s wasn't all strung were still there, as the ODST leading them now cranked his vehicle around right, speeding through the flowing corner as it fed around right.

Now the column of 4x4s had reached some kind of...bypass zone, for the wheeled traffic that would normally be going through here. Most of the overhead white burning lights weren't online, but it didn't matter how shadowy things were in the tunnel- up the road, Dutch saw that the tunnel was already opened up.

Without the roof, they'd be back out in the sunlight again...

Exposed, in other words...

_Great. We'll be running the gauntlet out there...provided the Covenant Air Force isn't on station._

_At least we got the edge of an M12's speed...definitely going to be vital. Not stopping or slowing down either way...  
_

Planning on the fly as was the norm for an ODST, so Dutch simply completed the turn, and gunned the vehicle up the road, rolling through scattered bits of litter on the ground in the process as the speedometer again wound up into the red.

If speed was the new rule of the day, then he'd be sticking by it as _much_ as possible, orders to go fast or not.

" Private ! ". It was time to double-check that their gunner was ready. " Hey, Kivec ! Watch the skies; there's no roof ahead ! "

" Got that ?! Keep your eyes up...! "

The Marine on the M41still had his ears open, and acknowledged Dutch's order snappily. " You got it, Corporal Miles ! "

_Got so used to ' Dutch '. ' Corporal Miles ' is formal as heck._

_" _ Jackhammer, _up ! "_

Jao's shouted declaration of having her launcher ready was _beautiful_ to listen to, as the M12 shot back out into the African sun outside, leaving the tunnel behind. If there were any Covenant fliers barrelling for them, or lingering around waiting to pounce, then having a well-supplied Jackhammer at their disposal was just what the doctor ordered.

" Roger that, Jao..! ".

_Might need it in a second...!_

Dutch braced for a shower of plasma from above, but-

-it_ didn't_ come.

There was...nothing.

_What...  
_

_...the ?_

The ODST's eyes flickered up, to some point that was 12:00 high, but there wasn't anything to be found up there, aside from a clump of puffy white clouds floating around at a couple thousand feet...at the same point ( roughly ) in the sky where the orbital tether _would've_ be stretching up past. There was, however, no sign of any Banshees, _or_ Phantoms.

Even his HUD's zoom function didn't reveal anything...

Jao swore, doing it in that language Dutch couldn't place again, before following it up with: "..._Anyone_ seeing fliers ? 'Cause I dont ! ".

" ...Negative ! ". Kivec had come up empty as well-

"..Oh sh- _Hostiles ! "_

_" Hostile air,** 6:00** high ! " _

_Yeah-should've seen that coming...!_

_" _Behind us ?! ". Out of his peripheral, Dutch watch Jao react, and then pivot around, Jackhammer raised.

_Keep that thing up !_

_" Yeah- we got Banshees inbound ! "_

Of _course,_ hostile air would be loitering in the _one_ place that didn't get checked first...and the one where they'd have the most cover. The Covenant hadn't burned out so many colony worlds by being stupid.

Just with _sinfully_ high amounts of firepower, that the UNSC couldn't hope to fully match...

..such as the Fuel Rod Cannon rounds that would be soon coming down on them in the next few seconds, if there was a wing of Banshees coming down on them. And, they'd have plenty of time to line up their shots, on op of that. Given that the bridge they were on right now looked to be at least the length of the Golden Gate ( If Dutch remembered his history courses right ), Magma Company had a real gauntlet to run.

It was a wide bridge-wide enough for dual lane, two-way traffic, just as the tunnel was. Metal fences several meters tall ran along the sides of the sidewalks that sat on the road shoulders, speckled with the occasional lampost or security camera...or camera disguised as lamposts.

The bridge was perfectly designed...for tourists, and anyone else _visiting_ the Reserve. With a Covenant invasion in full swing in the city, the bridge's lack of any kind of roof had turned it into a carnival shooting gallery for any Covie pilots going by, or sent to go full vulture on the place.

And, they'd had their fun; Dutch's M12 bypassed one abandoned open-sided touring bus , jeep, and other abandoned models of civvie vehicles after another, with most of them partially slagged like a candle hit by a blowtorch. Whether their occupant had been able to get clear beforehand or not, Dutch couldn't say.

He preferred not to think of the alternative...

" _Taking fire ! Taking fire ! All rollers, engage on **your 6:00** ! "_

Gorman yelled out over the M12's comms speakers-there was no more time to admire the view.

There was an alien invasion underway, after all.

* * *

_BWOOOSH !_

_" One away..! "_

Jao's Jackhammer went off-for the first time Dutch heard that day. The hissing woosh of the Launcher firing was chased a second later by the residual heat of the backblast washing over the ODST, along with the billowing ash-grey wisps of exhaust plumes.

Ongoing already, was the chattering clanking of the M41 going full blast. _Somewhere_ in the background, all the other M41's on the other M12s were discharging as well, producing an orchestra of overlapping full auto racket.

_Got a lock, Jao- ?!_

_"...Banshee down ! Banshee, **down !** ". T_he rocket-armed Corporal loudly- and enthusiastically reported success.

_" I got one ! " _

Gorman was still listening in on the unit's comms freq. " Roger that- One Banshee down ! "

"_ Corporal Miles !_ ", he went on. " _Update on the DZ: Covies are making another sustained push, and they're bringing Wraiths !_ "

"...Copy that, sir ! "

_God, those damn things are coming out of the woodwork ! _

_They must've dropped a whole armored battalion in this wretched park, geez...!_

_" We're nearly there, trooper! Soon as we're over the bridge- "  
_

And, it was right at that exact moment, when the M41 gunner behind Dutch interrupted them.

_" Banshee,** down** ! One down !".  
_

The column was halfway across the bridge now, and with a third of the enemy air taken care of. Plasma bolts were _still_ raining down, but the column was no easy mark, which was something that the Covenant pilots had gotten that into their heads...along with more than a few UNSC bullets.

Directly ahead, yawed another tunnel mouth, like the one they'd whipped through a minute ago. At their current speed ( Dutch had the accelerator mashed _all_ the way down, as he'd had as soon as he'd gotten behind the wheel ), it'd only take another...30 seconds or so, to clear the span they were on. They'd be out of reach of the alien's aerial assault...

_Just gotta make the roost_

"_ Good shootin' Private !_ ", the ODST bellowed.

He then addressed the Lieutenant again, as Jao's rocket launcher _bwoooshed _again, spitting another warhead skyward.

" Lt ?! Yeah-still here, sir. Keep sending your traffic... "

True to form, Lt. Gorman didn't miss a beat. "-_ Soon as we're over the bridge, this road goes** right** to our DZ ! Its the only way there, so you keep the pedal **down**, and you don't stop till we get there ! Got it ?! "  
_

It was hardly a daunting request; just a challenging one, and right up Dutch's alley. " No problem, sir ! "

" _Got another !... Banshee, smoked ! ". _ Jao, evidently, had knocked down a second hostile.

" Good one, Jao. Good one ! ".

_By God, she's working them over up there..._

_Keep it up, girl, keep it up_

Engine screaming, the M12 began careening down the descending slope of the bridge, as it led down toward the opening of the other end. The volume of plasma bolts had slackened off somewhat; either the Banshees had all been wiped out...or they were focusing more of their attention on the rest of Magma.

Yeah..but there were still M41's blazing steadily. Did that mean any of the M12's had been taken out, though ?

Dutch checked the RV mirror again...but there were no smoke pillars coming up. Not that nobody _wouldn't_ have been yelling over the comms if they'd been hit, because they _would've..._unless a Fuel Rod shot had smoked one_ so_ quick they didn't see it coming...

But even that would've been caught.

_We've done it...!?_

But, he had to check...

" PRIVATE! Kivec, you see anyone burning back there ?! "

"..Say again, Trooper ?! "

_Blast._ " Anyone** burning** back there, Private ?! "

" Oh...!...Nope ! No fires that I can see, Corporal ! "

So...they _hadn't_ lost any of the Warthogs yet. The Covenant, it seemed, should've brought more of an air wing than a handful of Banshees...because if they had, then they might've had an actual chance at putting a real dent in Magma.

If there was anything worth thanking God over, this was one of them, and Dutch did right then, whispering gratitude as he steered the 4x4 down to the bottom of the downward sloping road, and then proceeded to hook another corner- this time toward the left. There was another chorus of tires screeching-squealing, as the column cleared the bridge and then swept through the anchoring structure that was a mirror of its counterpart on the other side.

As they flew out back into the outdoors, Lt. Gorman spoke up with another update. "_ Corporal Miles_ ! Coporal, respond ! Over. "

" Right here, sir. ", The ODST jinked the wheel right now, dodging a...dead vulture ( or, at least it _looked_ like a vulture ), lying plasma-burned in the road.

" Send it-"

" They just shoot _everything_...damn !".

" Massacaring the birds...?! "

Jao must've seen the slain bird...and so had Kivec, as the M41 gunner cried out second later, "_ Hey, trooper- the Covies have gone full poacher !_ "

Dutch let the comments slide unanswered, as the Lt. was in the middle of supplying some tactically applicable intel...or was _about_ to, anyway.

"...poaching, Corporal ? "

_Allright...these two have got to chill._

_" Kivec, Jao-_ I'm on the horn with the Lt ! Police the noise ! "

Having addressed the issue, the ODST turned his attention back to the officer. " Go ahead, sir. Over. "

Once again, Gorman was crisply efficient. " Its a relay from the DZ...they've gotten some breadcrumb intel from our drones ! They're showing hostiles moving on foot along our route, headed _for_ the DZ...! "

" Repeat: Expect enemy foot mobiles ahead..! Over. "

_Oh, aren't _they _popular..._

_" Roger that_, sir. Watching for bad guys hoofing it. Over. "

_Could be worse...could've been Wraiths. Oh , wait- that's at the DZ._

At this point, they'd entered a grove of trees by now, and as they sped through the shady area, Dutch was already keeping his eyes firmly ahead, and scanning left. The right was already secure, though; a soaring wall of the now-familiar ' earthen base with a metallic upper portion ', the design that was another stretch of one of the dividing sections of the the left, the road they were currently on would up around a hairpin curve that partially went back on itself, extending up and out of sight over the silhouette of a loomingly giant hill.

There wasn't anything keeping the M12's from driving off the now-all dirt road...but that didn't' seem to be a good idea, as on either side of the column, the ground was rolling and dipping while also covered in considerable amounts of bushes and shrubs. While the M12s could handle that kind of lands, it was a great way to get the column strung out, scattered, and otherwise suffer comprised cohesion. That was unacceptable;

Aside from the grassy plains where Dutch had met Magma company for the first time, this was one of the more scenic areas he'd come across up till now...if it hadn't been for the formation of Sangheili that abruptly came jogging out from a thicket of foliage in his immediate 12:00.

_Aha...!_

_Found you ! Must be a Spec Ops team...probably climbed over one of the dividers, or dropped in via Phantom.  
_

_Unwelcome either way. Their funeral, though._

The Hinge-Heads must've heard them approaching, as the gleamingly-armored aliens weren't moving in a scattered or haste way; they'd been planning to get into a fight_ right_ here and now. Numbering about a dozen ( give or take ), they quickly lifted their weapons, lined up shots...

" **FUEL RODS**...!

* * *

Kivec didn't need to scream that out...not at all.

Dutch had already spotted the jade-green bolts whipping toward them. Adrenaline was already replacing blood in his veins...

...and he jinked. Hard right, pulling them out of the enemy's line of fire.

_God...!_

As Kivec's M41 began firing again, the Fuel Rod bolts skimmed past. They were decently aimed shots, and would likely have struck home if it hadn't been for Dutch's evasive maneuvers.

" _Shit, shit...Good lord-!_ ".

Jao's mixed swearing was definitely...interesting, Dutch judged.

_" Rocket out..! "_

_Hey, be _judicial _with those- we're saving 'em for the DZ...!_

Dutch didn't call Jao out on that, though. Getting shot at by Fuel Rod Cannons was _absolutely_ a reason to use a Jackhammer...if they weren't coming at you in a Wraith.

As they closed in on, and then began going by the Hinge-Head squad, Jao's rocket slammed into them. They'd done their level best to get clear, but ultimately failed as an orange-white blast consumed them, blotting out Dutch's view of them.

**Bwoom !**

_Did she get any of them ? Maybe- _

**_Bwam !_**

That's_ a Rod round going off back there..._

_Did** that** hit one of ours ?_

No way to know, of course. Kivec was still hosing the Sangheili down with M41 fire, as the M12 left the freshly pulverized enemy squad in the dust.

It was then, though, that the Gunner got a better LOS on the rest of Magma Company...

"..Agh...**Trooper !** "

_Here we go..._

" _Trooper, the **Lt's M12 is hit ! He's hit..**! "_

The adrenaline mix in Dutch's veins...was still there, but now it'd become markedly chillier. It only took one Fuel Rod hit to utterly _scrap_ an M12, if it hit in the right spot-

"_ What ?! They...they hit the Lt...?! "_

Kivec's answered Jao's concern-laden question as best he could. "_ Yeah...! Yeah...but...he's ok ! I think...! His M12 is still going ! "  
_

It must've been a grazing hit, then. It _must've_ been. Any of the rods that had been coming at them while they'd been on the bridge could've done that in a heartbeat if they'd scored a top-down kill, but these Rod shooters didn't have that angle.

_" Corporal Miles...Trooper ! "_

As soon as he actually_ heard_ the Lt. speaking after finding out he'd been on the receiving end of a Fuel Rod strike, Dutch couldn't help but murmur a " Thank you, God ".

_Could've been real bad for them- Magma- if we'd lost you..._

_But. not yet. Not yet..._

_" _Reading you loud and clear, sir..! ".

"..You ok ?

_God's looking out for **him,** that's for sure. _

Dutch was certain of that...as certain he was that the others could do with some of that divine assistance as another group of hostile footsoldiers came into view- a mixed bag of Grunts getting marshaled by their usual Sangheili whippers.

The shorter aliens were exactly where they were supposed to be- at the front of their formation, as their commanders bullied them forward. The Hinge-Heads were doing what they did best in making their stumpy subordinates going where they'd take the brunt of the Humans' fire...which they promptly did as puffs of dust began kicking up all around and among them; the other M41 gunners of Magma had gotten a LOS on this latest batch of hostiles, and were_ finally_ joining in.

_What kept you...?!_

"_ Kivec ! Eyes front, we got hostiles on our **12 !**_ ", Dutch bellowed.

Wrenching the M12 into another hooking turn, the ODST directed his gunner to adjust his fire, as he guided them around the previously spotted hairpin and then uphill, all at breakneck speeds. Thankfully, none of the newest Covenant facing them had anything heavier than a plasma rifle...but more than a few of their bolts made hits on the M12's side armor, boiling off chunks of plating into metallic vapor.

_" Roger...roger that_ ! ", acknowledged the gunner.

Going at roughly 70+ mph, Dutch couldn't give Kivec any longer to aim...but the M41's roar soon shifted. Kivec spun it around, and second later, Dutch was treated to geysers of cyan and purple blood as .50 cal bullets tore through them, removing limbs and heads, opening up torsos.

It was a good bit of shooting, for sure.

Jao didn't join in with another rocket, but then again, the now-riddled Covenant squad was in their dust. Besides, they were hardly worth a_ Jackhammer_ warhead, and anyway..the rest of Magma was having their turn now as well.

Getting raked by a couple of M41s ? Yes..that was probably more than a Covie squad could stand, even _Sangheili._

But, they weren't alone. As the column headed up the road, the terrain opened up, with fewer trees and improved sightlines...which made it easier to spot the jogging bunch of Jackals with a few Sangheili behind them up and off on the left...

_Geez, they just_ keep_ turning up...!_

Where they coming from ?! No Phantoms, or even one of those outdated Spirits had swooped in to drop off more squads...so the ones ahead right here must've been bviouced along Magma's current route, waiting for the orders to move up and hit the DZ. It had to be a recent tactical move by whoever was calling the shots for the Covenant; otherwise, they'd have dropped in some Wraiths as well...

Kivec had seen them, saving the ODST from having to call them out. The M41 engaged the Jackals at that moment , as a stream of tracers lashed out then to pluck a few of the Beak-Noses clear off their feet.

_**That's** more like it, Pirvate ! _

_Watchful.._

Squeaking and leaping, some of the Jackals were dead before they even finished spinning around.

The ones that actually made it managed to get off a few spastic trigger pulls of their Carbines, but it didn't do them any good- mostly because they didn't have anything heavier, and because the M41 gunner Dutch had at his disposal already at them bent over the table without a safe word.

None of them had a chance. As Dutch drove past the rapidly shattered enemy formation, his fornt right bumper caught one of them, and wth meaty_ thmp_, knocked him aside even more easily than a stuffed toy.

"_ Trooper...you've just lost your license ! ", exclaimed the Corporal beside him._

_" Vehicular...manslaughter!_ "

" Yeah...you'd better call the cops ! ", Dutch agreed. It was kind of ironic...he'd made his living handling heavy wheeled vehicles on Mars for years prior to signing up, and all that time, he'd been so diligent as to _not_ hit anyone.

Well, now things were more than slightly flipped, to put it mildly.

_Reckless driving- all the way to the DZ. _

_All the way..._

They were nearly there...they were nearly at the top of the road. Lying along their path, the ODST could see more enemy squads running forward, while others were redirection themselves to look back where they'd come, as the accumulative whining roar of multiple M12 engines reached their ears.

Or, what counted as ears on a Covie...

_" Corporal Miles ! Corporal, its at the top of this hill, around the righthand bend ! "_

It was very helpful of Lt. Gorman to keep things concise, and to the point. It wasn't fully needed- Dutch hadn't exactly forgotten that there was only one way forward other than this road, and-

\- oh, _there_ was the bend now. Across from some kind of...tool shed or maintenance shack on the lefthand side.

" Be advised, Corporal...I've gotten no word from Honcho ! Been doing all I can to raise 'em, but...they've gone radio silent...! "

the road bent right..and led right toward-

Well, there was only one word for it:

Maelstrom.

* * *

_Good God Almighty..._

_What. Happened. Here ?!_

Dutch had seen decimation before. He'd seen what the aftermath of a UNSC force that gotten wiped out to a man looked like, and he'd seen if more than once. He'd seen it often enough, to not have any doubt of being sure when he saw it.

And, he was seeing it now.

" Holy...! That's..that's a_ lot_ of smoke... ", observed a stunned Kivec.

" This place got burned down..."

Jao didn't say a word, as Dutch drove them closer. Why she had nothing to say, it was impossible to be sure...but maybe she was staring at the bodies.

There were a_ lot_ of them.

_UNSC_ bodies, that was.

As the M12 rolled up to the edge of what _had_ been the DZ, dead Marines, and dead Army Soldiers, all lay scattered and sprawled on the ground. Badly charred craters and pits pockmarked the Earth on all sides of them, most of which still had wisps of smoke curling up from their sides.

It was the craters that got Dutch's attention most...though the dead UNSC was a close second. After what had happened at Tribute...after watching so many Navy frigates getting bisected Dutch had taken every UNSC that he saw slain as personal,_ especially_ the ones that must've died at the hands of Covenant plasma.

And these craters here were proof of that, though it wasn't only them...

_God..._

_Are we too late ...?  
_

_We must be...we must be._

Dutch hit the brakes. Going at the speeds it was, the M12 took a while to halt, but before long, it did. The ODST was jolted hard against his restraints, as the 4x4 was slewed around in the process of bleeding off its excess speed.

He began to move nearly from the very second the M12 had stopped, undoing his harness, and leaping clear of the vehicle.

"_ Everyone-out ! "_

The crunch of boots on the gravely dirt announced that Jao and Kivec were complying. Behind him, came the sound of thickly treaded wheels crunching and scraping as the rest of the M12s also stopped cold in their tracks. They must've also seen the devastation...

...what other reason could there be ? They'd _arrived,_ anyway. That'd been the objective, hadn't it been ? To arrive, and they _had_.

Not to what they'd been hoping to find, though..but_ that_ went without saying.

Dutch began to run. He raced around the front of the M12, accelerating into a sprint as he went right ahead, M7S once again cradled in his hands. He lifted it to his shoulder, sighted down-

-and then lowered it, nearly as soon as he'd raised it. Why bother ?

There was nothing that was still standing that could be shot...nothing and nobody at all. Dutch swept his gaze right, and then left, but all he found was what the Covenant had left behind. They had worked over the UNSC's defenses here- humble ones, which had been all that'd been all they'd been able to put together in the limited time they'd had to dig in at the site before getting slammed by the alien offensive.

The only thing that _was_ still standing , was the base of a gravity elevator. The centerpiece of the Covenat's carrier's drop zone...and the reason why all these Leathernecks had died. Needless to say, the actual Gravity well was long ago shut off, but the foundation of it was still there, doing nothing but taking up space.

As purple and round as every other gravity elevator base Dutch had ever seen, the elevator base was essentially the _only_ thing that hadn't been heavily damaged or completely destroyed by weapons fire, UNSC or otherwise.

Every other bit and piece of UNSC hardware and equipment in sight was pockmarked and slagged by the xeno weapons fire. The sandbagged barricades that formed the " heaviest " portion of the position's strength, were mostly gone- either completely, or in glassed chunks of melted detritus. Piles of crates had been placed alongside the sandbags to bolster their resilience, but most of them were blasted to heck as well- the fighting here hadn't been _light,_ by any standard.

It wasn't just the improvised field fortifications that had taken the brunt of the enemy's attack, though.

Dutch wasn't counting the dead, per se, but there were quite a few of them. Enough, just by his mind's rough estimate, to equal a full platoon- and a few more squads. From where the bodies where lying, and how they were arranged and bunched up...it seemed they'd all pretty much died right where they'd been.

That's how it seemed to have gone down...they hadn't died running away_. Falling back_, yes...but running away ?

No. Not from how they were lying...

If they died, all of them, then...they'd died the best way it could be.

_Comforts. Taking the edge off..._

_Anywhere you can...got to do it. Otherwise._

Dutch turned around, abruptly. He found Kivec and Jao, a few yards in trail of him, cradling their weapons, and staring at the scene. Jao had her lower lip tightly bit, while Kivec's eyes were bugged wide open.

The ODST was sure he didn't need the ability of mind reading, to get a sense of what was going on in their minds.

Even the usually loud Kivec didn't have anything to say, not now. He just looked, as did Jao. They both stared at the obliterated barricades, the slagged

Further back, the rest of Magma Company's Jarheads had disembarked from the M12s, and were making their way forward. Nearly at once, Dutch had singled out the Lt. from the rest of them- he was at the head of the pack, walking with his BR55 shouldered, but with the muzzle down.

Dutch did what he could to read his face as well, but it wasn't easy- the officer was doing a good job of keeping his emotions hidden, and said face cast downwards.

As he got near, though, he looked up, and met Dutch eye to eye.

" Trooper ! Take those two, and sweep left. Might be survivors there. "

His voice didn't shake. He didn't seem to be trembling...just a lot of anger in his expression. Gorman wasn't even looking directly at Dutch when he said it, either; instead, he was staring at a point past him...

" If anyone is still alive, _we're pulling them out. _Understood ? "

_Yeah. There's no mistaking someone with their mind set to something..._

_No worries. We think alike. More than you know._

" Sir, yes sir. ", the ODST nodded crisply. " We'll take care of it. "

Gorman pointed with his chin toward his left, and Dutch took the cue. He turned away, and called to the Marines he'd ridden here with.

" Kivec ! Jao ! Let's _go,_ you two. On me. "

* * *

It was, as much as Dutch had seen, the ground version of Tribute.

Just remains of a UNSC decimation. That was it...

The ODST had led his two charges down into a narrow ravine, that wound down and slightly right in a gentle crescent. The entire terrain feature was " tucked " behind the side of the DZ platform opposite where the M12's had arrived from, which made it a perfect ( potential ) refuge from the notice of the Covenant.

Well, that's what it'd _become_, after things had gone downhill...

Even before then, though, the detachment here had made use of this place. More barricades, just like the ones up above, marked the mouth of the ravine, which Duch and the others had strode through moments earlier. There were more crates as well, but these ones actually seemed to be here because they were filled with usable items- ammo, spare components...

...and ammo. One crate had its top knocked off, exposing a collection of MA5 magazines. How much ammo was down here ?

Didn't matter; Dutch was here for survivors, whether he had orders or not. All the ammo in the world didn't mean squat, if there was nobody around to use it. Magma sure as heck couldn't haul it all, not with their lack of troop-carrying M12s...

_" Hello ?! Anyone here ?! " . _Dutch pitched his voice loud, as he scanned the jumbled mass of boxes, and around the outlines of the rocky outcroppings and piles." This is Corporal Taylor Miles, ODSTs !. "

_Come on...give me something._

_Someone...!_

But, no. Not yet...

They hadn't been down here long, either. Just a few seconds, less than a minute, though they'd covered most of the trench/ravine, and had found nobody. There was plenty of abandoned and discarded gear, supplies and the like, but no _survivors._

Just...a lot of empty space. From where they now stood, the ravine looked to be nothing but an improvised depot.

" I got a...a feeling about this ", muttered Kivec. " Not sure how to say it, but-I _know_ we just got here, and-. "

" That's exactly, it,_ Private_. We_ keep looking_, till we_ find_ someone. ", Jao interrupted. " That's it.

" _You_ saw what they did up there- ", the other Marine tensely reminded. " You _really_ think there's anyone left ?! "

" The Covies don't take prisoners...! "

But, Jao just wasn't having it. " Would you give it _a rest_...! Show me a damn body first, and _then_ I'll believe we've lost everyone here !"

What kind of...well, if Dutch had suspected Jao had some kind of personal chip against the Covenant, that last thing back there had essentially confirmed it. Or, at least gave it a lot more weight.

What were the fine details ? Well, those were still unknown, and needless to say, didn't _matter right now. _Overall, they did, sure, but Dutch was getting the impression that Jao'd been carrying this around for a while, and had figured out how to live with it. In the here and now, that was, which is where they were.

Still...it was worth keeping an eye on. Dutch tagged and filed it away...

...and it was right about then, that Jao's insistence on wanting to stay alert and leave no stone unturned proved to pay off.

" ...Hello ?!_ Hey...hey UNSC here !_ "

A man's voice sounded from some point out of sight, around a stack of crates...

".._.Friendlies !_ ", it called.

Dutch stopped on a dime, and raised a clenched fist.

_I knew it...there had to be someone...!_

_There _was_, after all..._

Hope and optimism bloomed in his chest, and the ODST could sense it. He knew now, that all that.._.annihilation_ he'd seen up there wasn't for nothing- there was someone to be saved down here, after all !

" ..Who's there ?! ", he called.

" ID yourself, and come on out ! "

_Come on; I'm an **ODST**. No matter how spooked you are, I'm as good a reason as any to poke your head up._

_Won't say I'm a Godsend, though, but-_

A second later, though, he got a response- a Marine with a Boonie hat on his head, and with an M6 handgun gripped in his right hand, rose into view from behind one of the boulders.

He was as dirty and dusty any anybody Dutch had met today, so _that_ was unremarkable by now...but it was everything else about him that wasn't. Mostly, his expression and stance said plenty about what he must've been through just prior to Magma's arrival, and how he must be taking them finally getting there.

Then, he introduced himself.

" Private First Class Leon Kennedy. And you've walked into a freaking cesspit. "

* * *

Everything about that response was as Dutch expected it: short, bare-bones, and it told him everything. Well,_ reenforced_ it, more accurately. Drove it home with a lump hammer.

A fresh wave of rage began to boil up in the ODST, but he made himself stay focused, and his head on the task at hand: taking charge of whoever was here, and getting them out.

That, and sizing up this new guy... seeing if he might be another Gorman, or that nervous Private-Hudson, yes that was it- from back at the Lodge. It didn't seem like the latter, though...he wasn't gibbering at them.

_Take what you can get, at least..._

Jao was the first to speak up. _" _We know, Private...We saw what those xeno _animals_ did. "

" Yeah ". Kennedy's eyes slid down and to the side, toward the back end of his M6's slide. Then, he met their gazes again.

" But you had to be there...they fricken'_ rolled over us. "_

_" _I won't say that didn't happen ", Dutch assured him. " But , I need to know more. I need some more details than that. "

Kennedy shrugged. " Does it matter ? Everybody is dead out there. Everybody...I'd have been as well, if the Sarge hadn't sent me back to help guard the wounded. I think they got the Colonel as well...but the wounded are still ok I think. "

He turned away, beckoning them to come with his free hand.

" Come on...there's more of us. The ones still alive, I mean... "

_God..._

PFC Kennedy ambled off, walking not exactly slowly, but without any obvious strength. All Dutch could do...all he_ wanted_ to do, was set off after him, while sharply beckoning to Kivec and Jao to keep up.

As after-action reports went, the one Kennedy had given them was as rough an abbreviated as you could get, but at least Dutch had more of a clue of what the battle had been like, aside from " It was all doom and gloom. ". That was every day in Pyongyang..

He shifted his M7S to a lowered carry, and prepped himself for what he might find.

* * *

It...could've been worse.

By how much, though, Dutch wasn't sure.

There were barely enough Marines here to formate a full squad- let alone two of them. And, _all_ of them were wounded.

Sitting up against the rock wall on the rightmost side of the ravine, or outright lying down. Evidently, all the remaining members of Honcho Company were off their feet, having been shot, blown up, or otherwise hit during the fight ( if it could be called one ) that'd gone down here.

Bandaged limbs, bandaged torsos, bandaged heads...all of them were sporting some kind of blatantly obvious injury. At least 3 of the Leathernecks were asleep, with their heads lolling off to one side, or for the one that was lying down, propped up with a stuffed rucksack. Planted upright in the sandy, gravely ground right between each of them, was a canteen, to provide each of them with water if/when they needed a drink.

And Dutch didn't doubt they would. _Any_ of them would... including the only 2 Marines that were still vertical.

_Just 2...only 2_

_Lord above._

Aside from Kennedy, there was only one other: A Marine was down on both knees, beside the Marine at the end of the line of lying/slumped wounded. He must'be been waiting for them, because he was already looking up.

Both of his hands were covered in field-grade surgical gloves, whose tips had blood on them. It seemed he'd been in the middle of swapping out the dressings on the wounded Leatherneck in front of him...

_Hm. A Navy guy is here..._

_Navy is always a close second, right behind the Marines. Always, after Tribute._

" Hey, Chips..." Kennedy called out to him.

" Turns out, it was really was a trooper. Plus some others..."

" Some...", the Marine with gloved hands observed, staring at Jao and Kivec. He nodded slightly, then bent back over his earlier work.

" Yeah, I can see that. "

" Petty Officer Chipps Dubbo. So, is it just those 2, or did they bring the whole Corps with 'em ? 'Cause we're gonna need that many to get out of here. "

Kennedy shrugged; nearly as if it didn't matter either way. _That_ in of itself was as worrying to Dutch, as anything else...

_What- like you hoping the Covenant come back, and finish you off ?_

_...Better not to actually ask...I'd rather not know.  
_

But, to answer the medic:

" Negative on it just being us- we brought a bunch of M12's with us. _4_ of them, all fully staffed. Not as full a party as I know you'd want..but its all there is. "

Chips ( _that_ was a curious name, for sure ) the Corpsman didn't stop, as he continued to pry the layers of dressings loose one strip at a time. A second or so after Dutch provided his explanation, however:

" Better than nothing...sure as heck can't drag these boys out on my back. Or the shelia ".

He nodded at the Marine who was asleep. It was the kind of way a lazy person might sleep, or one who was always heavily stressed and " hectically busy ". The kind of " I need to just crash for an hour so or " kind of sleep...

Or, "blasted by_ plasma rounds_ and then drugged up with pain meds " kind of sleep.

Kennedy stabbed a finger out at her. " That's _Jennifer_, remember ? I thought you_ knew_ her name..."

_This lad needs some serious R and R...right now._

Chips stopped again, and meet the other Jarhead's eye. " Leon...its _ok._ I understand. "

"_ Is_ it...? ". The pistol armed Marine looked down at his boots, dropped the pointing arm, and clenched a fist.

" They just killed us all. Covenant isn't here to fight; they just want us all to die..."

He was dead quiet for several moments, and then finally turned back at Dutch.

" Trooper-"

But the ODST was done just standing here and watching. He was done not _doing_ anything about this..

Not anymore.

_They've been put through the wringer 10 ways from Sunday, and we're their only hope. They nearly died in the worst way possible, and God helped me get here, to help them._

_So, I _will.

" Hey Hey. Both of you, listen up. "

_Time to get a handle on this._

" This is what you're gonna do: Prep these wounded to move, as much as you can. Jao, Kivec, you help them out, and do what the Doc says, ok ? "

_Nobody_ had any objections, and a mixed chorus of acknowledgments came in response, with Kennedy, unsurprisingly, having the most muted one.

" Hey, Corporal... ".

Kivec stepped forward.

" I wanted to say..you know.._.thanks_. Thanks for getting us here. "

" _Amen_ to that ", added Jao.

" I'm gonna remember this, Trooper. Everything you did for us...and them. "

They sounded the same: Genuine gratitude, like the kind regular civvies heaped on soldiers all the time. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but...

...it was special, coming from others in uniform. Particularly the lower ranks, or the rank and file Leathernecks. The UNSC had them as its backbone, but...they still looked up to ODSTs, nearly as much, if not more than, the Spartans. Which made sense, in a way: ODSTs were more, well, tangible

Which is why they didn't know it was still worth its weight in gold, to know you'd done something that _mattered_.

_Go jump in a lake, ONI: I fight for those like these two. Or, what's left of Honcho..._

_Or. Alpha-9._

At that, Dutch depolarized his visor, so the others could see him. They had to be able to look him in the eyes...

" You're welcome. "

" I'll go report back to the Lt..."

The ODST turned back then, leaving them to carry out these orders.

He didn't want to put his back at them, even briefly, though; it was like he was leaving them, even though that's not at all what was happening. Even though, that wasn't even remotely what was happening.

Still, it felt like it. He was..._angry_, after seeing all this; the results of ONI's usual interference He wanted to help these Marines, and to set things right for them, to do all that he could for them. It was crystal clear now that no matter what the " Objective " ONI had in mind for them, had in mind for the " asset " that had been supposed to be here, was long gone and/or a lost cause.

The only " objective " there was now, was rounding up these Marines, and getting them the hell out of the Reserve. No matter what it took...

...Dutch was going to do _exactly_ that.

And _nothing_ less.

* * *

" ...That answers, well...everything. "

Lt. Gorman had slung his BR55 over his back, and with hands crossed, his was pensively chewing his lower lip, while still surveying the scene of smashed and burned annihilation that had been Honcho Company's position.

" Actual didn't answer the comms...must've been KIA when I'd called again. Or, their comms got knocked out first..."

Standing by his side, Dutch listened to the officer speaking aloud, as he watched the other Marines of Magma. Most had gone down into the ravine to help with moving the wounded, while the others were walking over the field. They were doing typical post-battle operations: salvaging ammo, searching for enemy intel, checking for signs of movement among ant of the bodies...and also retrieving dog tags.

The most valuable of what was left...

They were reverent in carrying out that last one. Dutch couldn't be prouder.

He glanced at the Lt. The officer was no less impressed with his Leathernecks, but he was also beating himself up for not having gotten her in time. He was taking it as his own personal screwup...which was something that would burn you up like a furnace, or a Supercarrier's cleansing beam.

Dutch had seen that kind of thing shred more than a few others who had bars on their shoulders ( or higher )...and it was the last thing he wanted to happen to Lt. Gorman.

On the other hand, the Lt. still had leadership chops. He knew what he could, so...no. It wasn't that he was _that_ badly gone.

Not yet.

" Sir ", the ODST remarked. " You want to... you want to even the scale. Stop me if that's wrong, but that's what you want, right ? Even the scales. "

Dutch exhaled, looking down at the M7S he held.

" I don't mean _just_ by killing a whole mountain of Covenant, though...they definitely have it coming. "

" What are you saying, Corporal ? ". Gorman sought clarification.

_As if there was any other way you were going to ask...or if you were going to let your own goal go_

_You've got to find them._

_ Alpha 9..._

" I'm saying: Doing something that would help us- the UNSC, the Corps- as much as it'd hurt the Covenant. "

Dutch inhaled, then breathed out. His helmet's interior felt a tad stuffy..which was odd, as it'd become a second skin for him years ago.

" I need to be detached from Magma Company, sir. I need to track down my squad. They and I were dropped in on that op for ONI in New Mombassa..and they still need my help to get it done. We all dropped together, without that kind of cohesion, the Spooks are gonna get them chewed up."

Was it manipulation, using ONI's track record of getting units they got their hands on utterly screwed over to get the Lt. to remove the leash, so to speak ?

Not at all; not to Dutch, or to any ODST worth their salt. To any Marine who believed in honest work, rather than cloak and dagger garbage. Everybody in Magma was dyed in the wool grunt, through and through, and that included the Lt. They all knew now, if they'd had any doubts, that ONI wasn't good for much aside from...getting good soliders killed.

Yeah...that was about it. If they stuck to spying, they'd be just vital...but, well, that wass exactly it: ONI was as busy

So, no: It wasn't any kind of string pulling. It was just lying thing out, making it as simple as could be. Dutch was prepared to go off without orders if that's what it took...if that's what it took to find a way to even begin hunting for them. Sure, it'd be going AWOL, and on a decent unit of Leathernecks, too, but Dutch was ready to do it.

But, it turned out to be needless. Which, didn't shock him all that much. Actually, not at all.

" Trooper ? ". Gorman shook his head. " I really shouldn't. You're the best damn driver I'ver ever seen, and a real asset to our unit-unlike the God-knows-_what_ ONI had us here chasing. "

_You said it, not me._

The officer looked out over his dispersed Jarheads again for several seconds, said nothing, then:

" But, after _this ?_ No way on God' Earth I'd let another unit get screwed by ONI again...especially not a squad of ODSTs. Besides, its not like you're in my Chain of Command, to get formal. "

He reached out, and clapped a hand on the ODST's shoulder.

" Go on: Take one of the M12's. "

He could've offered a Grizzly Tank battalion, but it didn't matter: a free license to go and keep searching for Alpha-9 ? That's all Dutch had wanted, and now he had it.

_Thanks, Lt. You're allright.._

Dutch didn't say it aloud, though. Instead, he put out a hand.

And, the Lt shook it, in a strong and real grip.

" You're going to get them out of here, sir ? I mean, _out_ of here. "

The officer nodded firmly, his jaw set with purpose. " You can count on that, trooper. I'll load them up, and Magma Company will carry them out- either to where there's an _actual_ rendevous point, not this deathtrap here- or...all the way out of New Mombassa if that's what it takes. "

" Our last standing orders ? They died here...along with Honcho. Unless we get new ones- ones not from those snakes in ONI- then evaccing the survivors is the plan. Heck, even if it isnt, I won't leave them. "

_I know you can't ditch them, orders or not...if I know you. And, I think its a good guess that I do_

" God bless you, Lt. You and everybody here . "

" Let Corporal Jao and Private Kivec know: I'll put in a recommendation for both of them to join the ODSTs, if they're interested. "

Gorman nodded, and his mouth showed the slightest hint of what optimism might be left in him- but he had the determination to spare, and a winning attitude.

That was enough, to last long enough.

" I'll be sure to remind them. No doubt Corporal Jao will jump at the chance to have a swing at getting in with them. "

_Yeah, I bet she would. Give her a Jackhammer, enough ammo to last, and she'll be a force to be **feared.**_

_Hm...and everybody I know says they haven't met someone who loves heavy weaponry as much as I do. Well, they haven't met her._

Up ahead, at the mouth of the ravine, Kivec and Jao emerged. Between them, a wounded Marine was being supported, carried toward one of Magma's M12's. At the sound of their shouts, several Marines turned away from their ghoulish rounds among the remains of Honcho, and hurried over to lend a hand.

_Speaking of which..!_

At once, Dutch raised an arm, waving. The two uninjured Jarheads saw him, and while they didn't stop, neither of them lost a second in waving back.

_They_ were who mattered in this fight on Earth.._.they_, what remained of Honcho Company, everyone back at the Lodge...all of them. ONI, and what ONI had in mind ?

Hang that. Dutch had _his_ objective back in his sights again.

And a clear path, right to it.


End file.
